Remnants: Season of Fire (20 page)

Niero moved back to the Aravanders. “Get used to extra company. It’s just the beginning. These people will be an aid to us.”

We moved at a fairly slow pace the first day to accommodate Killian — remarkably healed and yet not feeling completely whole — which was fine by me. Every one of my injuries, bruises, and strained muscles seemed to be shouting at me to slow down. It was as if my entire body echoed a complaint my heart cried first. But we fought our way forward, climbing a shorter mountain pass. The second day we moved much faster and sensed we were drawing closer to our fellow Ailith. “We’ll find them by nightfall,” Niero said, clasping my shoulder.

The Aravanders had gladly positioned themselves as our scouts — three in front, three in back. And twice they’d sounded an alarm just in time for us to take cover and avoid Pacifican drones. After the second one circled and moved off, we watched it. The bird-like contraption circled in what seemed like a mile-long pattern, edging forward slowly. “We think they record what they see,” one of the Aravander men noted, shifting his bow strap higher on his shoulder. “We
shot one down once. They are mechanical, filled with glass and metal and cameras like some of old.”

I didn’t like it, this advantage the Pacificans had over the Trading Union. What else did our enemies have access to? What would happen if it came down to battling them outright?

When we reached the next valley floor, surrounded by rocky soil and towering trees but no ground cover, Niero led us to a small game trail and we followed it toward the next mountain pass. We curved in and out of rock fields and gradually among boulders, which gave me comfort in case the drones showed up again. Onward we climbed. Soon our water bags and canteens were dry, but we’d yet to encounter a stream or spring. We kept moving, hoping that the higher we rose, the greater the chance we’d find water. But for hours, we found none.

We’d paused, panting, letting the last drips of our containers drop into our open mouths, when Niero sent all six Aravanders out farther ahead to see if they could locate water, half a bit to the west and half a bit to the east. As they set off, we sank gratefully into the recesses of the boulders about us, squeezing down and under the curves of the great rocks, eager to soak up the break from the relentless sun. How many times in the Valley had I prayed for a full day of sun? Now it seemed like a curse.

The Aravanders eased away, and I was again impressed with their stealth. Our trainer would’ve been proud. I didn’t even hear the swish of leather sole on rock or the movement of pebbles as they padded away.

“Try and grab a bit of sleep,” Niero said to me and Killian. “We might have to hike into the evening, depending on what they find — and you two are still on the mend. Tressa, you look weary enough to fall asleep on your feet.”

He didn’t have to encourage us twice. I closed my eyes and immediately gave in to the pull of slumber, hoping I’d encounter Dri in my dreamscape again, the closest I could get to her.

I awakened to a tiny pebble hitting my forehead. I frowned, rubbed where it had hit and squinted out into the fading light to see where it had come from. My hand moved to the hilt of my dagger. Did we have company?

I eased out from beneath my rock and slowly rose, just high enough to peer over and around my sheltering boulder. I turned slowly, not wanting to draw attention to my movements, and saw Niero rising and doing the same. He put two fingers to his eyes and then made a circular movement, silently asking me to help him spot whoever was with us. Friend or foe?

Niero edged toward where Tressa and Killian laid, obviously angling to awaken them, in case we were about to —

I saw the pebble this time. It sprang from a rock above us and struck the back of Niero’s head. He whipped around, knife in hand — and narrowly kept himself from releasing it.

I heard her laughter, then, along with the low laughter of a man. Saw Niero’s face break into a rare grin as he shook his head and sheathed his dagger.

They emerged: Azarel and Asher.

Azarel raced down the trail and sprang into Niero’s arms for a hug, then reached for Killian and Tressa. I joined them, clasping Asher’s arm and accepting Azarel’s embrace. I waited, my smile fading as I saw her look for Dri and then search my eyes. “Your Remnant . . . Andriana is gone?”

“
Away
. Not gone,” I said.

“Keallach has her,” Niero said, accepting a canteen from Asher, drinking deeply, and then passing it to me.

“Or Dri has
him,
” Tressa put in, taking a water skin from Azarel. “She thinks she can turn Keallach. Bring him back to us,” Tressa said.

Azarel and Asher shared a long, sober look, all trace of humor leaving their faces. “I fear that is a long shot,” Azarel said to Niero.

“I fear it is a long
shot in the dark,
” Niero returned. “But we had no choice. They captured her. To try and rescue her would have meant that we four would all have been lost.” His black eyes remained on me; I knew he hoped his words would reinforce my constantly crumbling wall of resolve.

“I can’t tell you how happy we are to see you again,” Tressa said to them both.

“And we, you,” Asher said, eyes gleaming again. “Come. We have your Aravander friends back at our campsite. We told them we wanted to be the ones to come and fetch you.”

He turned and led the way up the trail. With a bit of rest and water in my belly, I could force my way forward. But I prayed that we weren’t far from their camp. Stopping had almost made my weariness worse. Or was it the talk of Andriana?

We climbed up the trail, pausing when we thought we heard a drone, then moving onward. “What brought you into Pacifica?” Niero asked. “I thought you didn’t dare any farther than Castle Vega.”

“Castle Vega is the worst place for us,” Azarel said. “But we found friends to the north of the castle and gradually heard rumors of what might be happening to our Ailith friends in Pacifica. Eventually, we felt the Maker’s pull to head toward
you, in case you needed help. But here you are! Safe and sound.”

“Well, most of us,” Killian said.

I closed my eyes, hearing his words as condemnation.

It took me a while to realize my armband was growing warmer, since I was sweating so much with our climb. The heat wasn’t fading when night came on as I’d expect it to. Was that because we were so close to the Great Expanse? But then I felt them, their presence, and noted the other Ailith grinning from ear to ear. They’d recognized what I hadn’t because I was so preoccupied with thoughts of Dri. But they were here.

We turned the corner, entering a cave crevasse that forced us to suspend ourselves between the two walls, shimmying down twenty feet to a dirt path that led deeper into a cave. We could hear the chatter and laughter ahead, then the gasps and shouts of hope as they sensed our arrival too. It wasn’t long before we were surrounded by Bellona and Vidar, Chaza’el and Kapriel, as well as our Aravander scouts and about twenty more of their tribe, including Latonia and Jezre and their baby.

And for the first time in days, I experienced joy and hope again. The Maker had seen to our reunion.

Surely somehow, some way, he could bring Dri back to us too.

CHAPTER
18

ANDRIANA

I
had no sense of time. Had it been days since Sethos had come to visit me or mere hours? I drifted in and out of sleep, curled up on my side, teeth chattering as fiercely as the night Ronan and I spent in the cave. No maid had come with food, no healer with balms. The fireplace in the corner remained cold, and the room was so frigid that even the thick blanket could not ward off the chill. Or perhaps I ran a fever . . .

By the time that Lord Maximillian Jala came to see me, I knew I had no choice but to capitulate — if only for show — in order to survive. I would not do the Remnants any good if I died of thirst. The least I could do was die with a sword in my hand.

I awakened as I heard the heavy wooden door scrape open — wide open, I realized — and I wished I had the strength to rise and fight my way out, to escape this cursed palace. But I felt as weak as an old woman on her deathbed.

His boots scuffed to a stop a foot from my bed and I forced myself to look up with my good eye. Lord Jala was one of the Council of Six, the head of Keallach’s advisors. The one we’d almost killed in Castle Vega.

“Hello, Andriana. Welcome to Pacifica Palace,” he said sardonically.

I tried to think of a witty comeback but nothing came to me. I was tired, so very, very tired.

He crouched and let out a sound of disgust. “The emperor would not be pleased that she was left in such a state,” he said over his shoulder.

“Lord Sethos demanded —”

“It doesn’t matter what Lord Sethos demanded. The emperor’s demands surpass them. She’s had no food? No water?”

“No, m’lord.”

Maximillian ran a hand briefly across my forehead and then muttered, “She burns with fever. And that cut! She’s as filthy as an alley dog. See to it that the maids bathe her and put her into something decent, and summon the healers.”

“Yes, m’lord,” said the other man behind him.

Maximillian moved away and two others came and lifted me between them like an awkward sack of potatoes. But again, I felt too dizzy and weak to complain. They were moving me, hopefully to warmer quarters. Somewhere they’d give me water to drink. Lots and lots of water.

The guards partly dragged, partly carried me down a hall two stories high. Sconces burned at regular intervals, and the corridor stretched out before me. I remembered how we had tried to drug Maximillian and escaped that terrible night at Castle Vega — all of us — and longed for my fellow Ailith. Only my captors’ attempts to ask me where my friends might be gave me comfort. If our enemies didn’t know, there was a good chance the Ailith lived and were on the move. And headed toward . . . where? I racked my mind but could not remember where we were to meet. It was like a bad dream
with a hall full of doors, where you once knew the right door, but now the hall stretched and stretched, so long and with so many options you thought it might take days to open them all.

Finally, the men turned into a room full of white pillars and steaming water. The walls were covered in tiny tiles, mosaics depicting fish of every size and shape beneath the waves. And down below were pools, vast baths that sent steam up in tendrils as offerings to the domed ceiling covered in gold.

A matronly woman in Pacifican dress came into focus before me. “Here, my dear. Drink. Drink. This will be the first step toward healing.”

I sucked eagerly from the narrow lip of the bottle, relishing the lemon-laced water as if it were from the afterworld itself. When I’d drained one, she motioned for another. When I’d finished that, two women came and helped me to the edge of the nearest tub, sunken into the floor. It was as big as a small cottage in width, and sprawled across the corner of this bathing room like a private, steaming pool. In quick order, they’d undressed me, pausing to gawk at the crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on my hip, whispering behind their hands and then hurriedly moving on as if I’d missed their attention. But it didn’t matter. I witnessed it all as if in a dream half a world away.

They lowered me into the water and I cried, unable to tell if the water was so hot that it was truly burning me or if the heat was caused by my fever. But the women clucked and soothed and two of them actually got in with me, setting me upon a ledge, and set to washing my hair and scrubbing my body — pausing in wordless wonder when they realized that my arm cuff was fused to my skin — and eventually carefully, tenderly washing away the blood on my face.

I cried harder then, despite my shame. But the thought of my battered face, combined with their careful ministrations, felt a bit like a touch from my mother herself, and I was overcome.
Mom.
My beautiful mom. So worried for me when it was I that should’ve been far more worried for her . . .

They looked at each other in concern, then quickly completed their task.

“Come, mistress,” murmured one. “Gain your feet beneath you and we’ll help you out.”

I did as she bid and was up and fairly lifted out in moments, thankful that I had ceased shivering for the first time in what seemed like days. Had a mere bath helped drive away the chill or had my fever finally broken? On shaking legs I made my way out of the bath and along the floor, an intricate mosaic of all sorts of fist-sized marble pieces: twilight purple, olive green, and fools-gold yellow. I stared at it as the women patted me dry, rubbed oils across my skin and ointment into my cuts, then slipped the sheath of the Pacifican gown over my shoulders and pulled it down, long and clinging, across my body, and then over it the gossamer-thin, billowing second layer opening in slits all along my arms.

I could feel sweat beading on my forehead as they tied a soft rope around my waist, and saw the concerned looks shared between them. “Not out of the woods yet,” I said, laughing to myself, remembering something my dad had always said, amused by the understatement even in my foggy state.

The motherly servant appeared before me. “This way, please.”