Winter's Reach (The Revanche Cycle Book 1) (32 page)

The refugee fleet landed in Itresca on a warm, starry night, making landfall in sight of an olive grove. The weary survivors crashed their leaking boats against the rocky white-sand beach or just abandoned them in the surf, wading through the warm and waist-deep water while hoisting supply crates and sacks over their heads.

Some of the escapees from the Holy City had died on the voyage, taken by their wounds and slipping into the pitiless sea. A hundred and eighty-nine people made landfall, a ragged line following Livia Serafini over the rocks and sand and into the green.

I can’t do this
, she thought, so exhausted she could barely put one foot ahead of the other.
They’re going to want me to speak. To say something to keep their hope alive. I can’t do it
.

Then she thought of the dead they’d left behind. She raised her chin and pushed her shoulders back.

You are allowed to be tired
, she told herself,
but you are not allowed to be weak. It’s your job to be strong, so they don’t have to be
.

She turned, facing the growing crowd as they gathered around her in the olive grove. She held out her hands, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried all the way to the water.

“I won’t tell you that this happened for a reason,” she said. “I won’t tell you that it was part of the Gardener’s grand design. It was the evil in men’s hearts that forced you from your homes, that murdered your families, your friends, your neighbors. It was avarice and hate. I have heard you speak on the voyage. I’ve heard the calls for violence, for revenge.”

Nodding faces all around. Hard eyes and pursed lips.

“My brother has turned his back on love,” Livia said, “and that is why
we must not
. Oh, we will fight. We will fight, for even saints have carried swords, but we will fight with a craving for justice in our hearts. A craving that will only rest when my brother’s crimes have been set to right.

“We will camp here tonight. Come morning, we march to the Itrescan capital, and I will parley with the king. I wish I could tell you what will happen after that. I wish I knew all the answers. All I know is that I
will not give up
. I will fight to my dying breath. For justice. For our Mother Church. And for you.”

There was no fanfare, no grand applause, just a sea of tired faces slowly dispersing among the trees. Little knots of people clung together, families and neighbors, and soon the grove glowed with scattered pinpricks of firelight. Livia sat in the grass and closed her eyes, feeling lead weights pressing down on her shoulders.

“Better than most of my sermons,” Amadeo said, crouching beside her.

She didn’t open her eyes. “Doubtful.”

A few minutes later, the soft sound of a song drifted across the grove. A hymn carried by a handful of refugees gathered around one of the campfires. A ring of survivors at another fire, not far away, slowly took up the song and added their voices. From firelight to firelight, the hymn carried and grew louder.

In chains of iron, in snow-swept night

Wand’ring strange land and sea

I will not be silent, will not hide my light

For thy guiding hand is on me.

“Hymn to Saint Elise, Lady of Deliverance,” Amadeo mused. “The voice against tyrants, comforter of prisoners, and speaker of hard truths. Always been one of my favorites.”

In cold, in dark, in toil and blight

I may fear, yet shall not flee

I will not be silent, will not hide my light

For thy shielding hand is on me.

“Livia,” Amadeo said.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

“You know they’re not singing to Saint Elise, don’t you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut again.

She couldn’t find her voice, but her lips moved with the words and she felt a sudden surge of passion, the grim responsibility on her shoulders warring with the fire in her heart.

Saint Elise
, she prayed,
lend me your strength. Lend me your sword and your shield, that I might keep these people safe in the tempest to come.

For I will not be silent.

First, a dedication: Kelly is my friend, my confidante, and often my inspiration. My work wouldn’t be what it is, and I wouldn’t be where I am, without her. She’s given me gracious permission to play a riff on one of her own creations, as a crucial part of the Revanche Cycle’s cast of characters, and I hope I do her justice.

Kelly, this is for you.

As always, I want to thank my team: Kira Rubenthaler, my editor; James T. Egan, my cover designer; and Maggie Faid, my social-media manager. Even if only one person writes the words, every good book is a collaboration.

And most of all, thank you for reading! If you’d like to find out what happens next, head over to
http://www.craigschaeferbooks.com
and hop onto my mailing list for announcements about new releases. You can also catch me on Facebook (facebook.com/CraigSchaeferBooks), Twitter (@craig_schaefer), or just drop me an email at
[email protected]
. I’d love to hear from you.