Season of Glory (43 page)

I heard the creak of a door on its hinges and hurriedly shut my eyes.

“Is everything all right? I thought I heard a cry,” said a man.

“Uh-huh,” Tressa said. “I just tripped. Stubbed my toe. I'm sorry to bother you.”

“Hmph,” he said. “Has the empress-elect awakened?”

“No. Not yet,” she said, moving, and I guessed she was trying to intercept him.
“She has been to death's door. Sometimes it takes a while to regain consciousness
when one has hovered so close to the afterworld.”

“I see,” he said, and it was then that I recognized his voice. Lord Fenris. “Well,
come to me at once. I am just across the hall. As soon as she wakes. You understand?”

“Yes, Lord Fenris. I will do as you have asked.”

He paused a moment and then turned on his heel, slipping through the creaking door
again. Tressa moved back to me, and I watched her through slit eyes. She was in the
traditional ivory Pacifican dress. I tilted my head back, rolled as if still sound
asleep, then looked over at her. “What has happened?” I whispered.

She moved over to me, kneeling by my bed. She gripped my hand in hers, and I steeled
myself for the worst. “You almost died. The Maker healed you, but you still are far
from completely well.” Her blue eyes welled with tears. “Niero died, Dri.”

I shut my eyes, remembering his head, rolling. His wings, disappearing.

“I know,” I whispered raggedly, blinking back hot tears. I looked at her again, my
grip on hers tightening. Somehow, in sharing the aching chasm of loss, we partially
filled it.

“The Remnants . . . the Knights . . .” Her voice broke. She gathered herself and
then continued. “They are still in the dungeon.”

I felt the devastation in her, the yawning divide she experienced in her separation
from Killian. The fear there. “But still, you stayed,” I whispered.

She nodded slowly. “For you. For Keallach. He's somewhere near, but I haven't seen
him since we were put here.”

“Here?” I breathed. “We're in Castle Vega still?” There were many hours in my memory
that were lost to unconsciousness.

“Yes. The last I saw the Knights . . . Sethos . . . The Council . . . They made no
promises.” Fear yawned wide in her eyes.

“And Ronan?”

She looked away to the window, then back. “He was there, last I saw him. But . .
.” She bit her lip.

“But?”

She hesitated, as if trying to find the words. “Dri, they know. You were handfasted
to Ronan, but you haven't consummated your vows. Keallach . . .”

She looked away again.

“Tress.
Keallach
. . .” I led.

She looked to me for a moment, her blue eyes sober and steady. “He offered for you,
Dri. Said he wanted you. It was the only reason Sethos allowed me near you. To heal
you for . . . him.” She bowed her pretty head, shaking it slowly. “Had he not, you
would surely be dead.”

My heart was pounding, my mind whirling. “But . . . Tressa. What do you think? Did
he do it as a . . . as a brother? To save me? Or for another reason?”

She took my other hand, so that we held both fists, cross-armed together. “I don't
know,” she said, her blue eyes melding into mine. I felt her hope, her encouragement.
“But you are alive. And had he not acted, had Ronan not relinquished you—you would
surely be dead.”

“Relinquished,” I repeated, my brow furrowing.

Hers did too. “Ronan was forced to admit that while you are handfasted, you have
not yet consummated your vows.”

My mouth was dry. “But why? Why should that matter?”

“It matters that Keallach still could claim marital rights of his own. And if you
bear a child, there would be no question as to who was the father. It is how he convinced
Sethos to allow me to try and save you.”

My mouth grew drier. “So . . .” I couldn't bear to go on.

“So, he has laid formal claim on you.” Her lips closed for a moment, as if she had
to will herself to continue. “He intends you to be his empress.”

I leaned back against the pillow. I saw it, then. That it had been Keallach's only
way to save me. And yet . . .

“Let us go from there, shall we? Hoping for the best, in all?” Tressa said. “Isn't
that what the Maker asks of us?”

I nodded, but I knew my heart was far more jaded than hers. I'd experienced, firsthand,
the depravity and the glory of the human heart.

And I had no idea exactly where Keallach was on that spectrum now.

CHAPTER
42

RONAN

W
hat is happening?” I whispered to the servant girl who drew fresh water from the
well
and
passed it from cell to cell. “What news have you?”

She looked furtively to the guards at the end of the cellblock and didn't answer
me, moving back to the well, dropping the bucket, and pulling it upward again, each
crank of the wheel seeming to take an eternity. She moved to the cell next to us,
and I shoved men aside, ignoring their cries, so that I could get closer to her.

“Please,” I said. “I'm a Knight of the Last Order. I need to know. Does Andriana
live? What do they plan to do with us?”

Her dark eyes shifted my way, weighing me to see if I told the truth. “Later,” she
whispered out of the corner of her mouth, her lips barely moving.

I swallowed my desire to continue to harangue her. She would bring me word if she
could, somehow. I had to find the patience to
wait. But it was dreadfully hard. With
no more than two square feet to stand in, the combined stink of us was enough to
send a grown man into a dead faint if one breathed through his nose, and more than
two days without much sleep or a chance to sit down . . . I both wanted to collapse
and fight my way out, all at once.

Some had resorted to crying, on and off. Kapriel had led prayers every few hours,
and I supposed his own years of captivity made him more resilient than I to this
new torture. The Drifters and Aravanders were more given to screaming their frustration
while rattling the bars of their doors. They were used to freedom and wide, open
spaces. As I waited through the hours for the servant girl to return, I wondered
for the thousandth time if we'd misread our call to this foul city, if we'd been
more influenced by Keallach than the call in our own hearts. The Remnants had seemed
so certain, so clear that Castle Vega was next. And it had been logical, given that
it was the last bastion of Pacifica outside the Wall. But had we allowed pride to
rush us? Had it truly been the Maker who called us here, or our brother who just
made it seem that way?

But then, hadn't Vidar said that we were not alone, that angels accompanied us?

I shook my head, arguing with myself. If it had been just Keallach . . . I had my
doubts about him, especially now. He'd been so ready to jump in, to offer for Andriana.
Yes, it was a means to save her. But wasn't it somewhat convenient, given what happened
at Georgii Post?

A sound from the hall brought my head up, and it didn't take long to know that many
soldiers were approaching. As they came into sight, with a ring of keys in the first
man's hand, people began to cry out, half in fear, half in hope of release. There
were rumors that we were all to be executed. Some said they'd shoot us each through
the head. Others said we'd be hanged. Still more thought we'd be
impaled, so that
our deaths would be as excruciating as possible. “Make an example of us, that's what
they'll aim for,” said a Drifter.

The soldiers stopped in the center of the cellblock. “Where is Prince Kapriel? And
Ronan of the Valley?”

“Here,” I said, coughing.

Kapriel identified himself, several cells down. Both of our doors were opened, and
we stumbled out. I gaped at the others as the soldiers stuffed them back in, even
as I took my first full breath in days. I could barely move, my legs partially asleep,
and the guards roughly took my arms. I looked for the others.

I spied Vidar first. “Are we alone?” I asked him as we passed. “Are any of our
friends
about?”

He gave his head a brief shake. “Not since Niero . . .”

I contemplated that. So we could count on no heavenly intervention.

They put a hood over Kapriel's head and bound his hands behind his back. Would that
be enough to keep him from commanding the skies? I racked my brain for memory of
him doing so, but every one involved his hands. Still, could not Dri read another's
emotion, even if she wasn't touching the person? And Vidar could see without even
opening his eyes.

A sick feeling went through me when another thought came to me. Perhaps we were heading
for our executions first. The prince who might threaten his brother's rule. And Andriana's
guardian and handfasted husband. Were we not the two most threatening of the Ailith?
To kill us first might bring the rest low. But if that's what they thought, they
were wrong. Killian and Tressa, Bellona and Vidar . . . they would find a way to
fight back.

I squinted and winced as we reached the top of the stairs, the daylight nearly blinding
me. The guards at my side hastened me forward, making me stumble.

“Watch it,” grumbled the one on my right. They pulled Kapriel and me down the hallway
and took a left, then down another hallway. We emerged onto the patio, where there
was a pool, fountain, and luscious green plants.

Sethos, Keallach, and the Council were awaiting us. A shiver ran down my back. All
were in their traditional Pacifican clothes in various shades of ivory, except for
Sethos, who was in his crimson cape. But unlike the last time we were here, no women
paraded about, serving the men drinks and food. My eyes narrowed as I saw that there
was another dressed in a red robe. I did a double take. It was Zulon, the monk we'd
encountered at Wadi Qelt.

I thought there was a small smile behind his eyes, which did not bode well for what
was to come. We had not parted as friends.

Keallach rose, one arm in a sling and the other bound behind his back. The Council
reluctantly followed suit. Sethos stood behind him. We drew closer, and Keallach
approached his brother. “Kapriel, I am here,” he said, leaning toward his twin. “If
we remove your hood and free you, do you swear that you shall not use your gifting
against us?”

“I swear it,” Kapriel said after a moment's hesitation.

Keallach nodded, and a guard stepped forward and pulled the hood from Kapriel's head.
When he pulled a decorative dagger from his belt and went around Kapriel to cut him
loose, Lord Jala interceded. “Not quite yet with that,” he said. “Let us keep some
safeguard, shall we? It's one thing to let him see; it's another to allow him use
of his hands.”

Keallach grew rigid, as if upset by this intervention, but he said nothing as the
guard sheathed the dagger.

Kapriel blinked slowly, his hair in disarray, as he gradually focused on his brother
and the others behind him. “What is it you want?” he said, his voice sandy.

“We need your help,” Keallach said. “I need your help.”

I searched his eyes, his gestures, anything that could tell me that he was playing
a part, pretending in order to give us some edge, but I could detect nothing. My
angst grew.

“We have brought you forth,” Lord Jala said, stepping up beside Keallach to face
Kapriel, “to give you one final chance, my lord prince. Keallach has told us that,
over these last weeks, you two have been able to bridge past pain and that you were
able to forgive him for the . . . injustices you feel may have occurred.”

“Injustices,” Kapriel repeated benignly. “Such as murdering our parents?”

Keallach inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, as if suffering over the mere mention
of their deaths.

Lord Jala stared back at him dolefully. “For one, yes,” he sniffed.

“Or imprisoning me for years?”

“Yes, for that too.” Lord Jala glanced at Keallach and took a step toward Kapriel.
“It was our understanding that you might be ready to set your past behind you and
rule together with your brother.”

Kapriel lifted his chin and stared straight back at his twin. “I was ready to rule
with him when I thought he had left his dark past behind him. Clearly,” he said,
bitterness and betrayal lacing his tone, “I was wrong.”

Lord Jala looked to Keallach. “You told me you had him in hand. That he would capitulate.”

“I told you I thought he would work with us. If you would give me a moment to speak
to him alone, I—”

“No,” Sethos said, stepping forward. “This is not a negotiation,” he said, turning
back to Kapriel. “This is a simple offer. Rule with your brother or die. There will
be no more martyred prince, languishing in a prison. We will kill you and be done
with it.”

Kapriel's face twisted. “It is not an offer. It is a trap. Just like everything you've
always ‘offered.' It's a means for you and the
Council to control us, use us. So
to your offer, I have one answer,” he said, leaning forward. “No.”

“Kapriel,” Keallach began.

Sethos lifted a hand to him, and he fell silent. It was clear that any power Keallach
had once enjoyed was gone. So then, what was his game? What did he hope to accomplish
in their fold? I watched him, hoping he would look my way.

Lord Jala abruptly turned to face me. He lifted his hands to my filthy tunic and
straightened it, patting my chest in an overly familiar way. I fought to stay where
I was. “I suppose that leads us to you, Ronan of the Valley.” He looked up into my
face. “You see, we have two routes to resolve this tiresome dispute with the Trading
Union and quell the unrest at home. A throne shared by the twins,” he said, with
a wave between them, “or what you most fear.”