Remnants: Season of Fire (21 page)

I allowed her to take one arm and felt another take my second, leading me to a new room with a sprawling bed. I’d never seen such a thing. It was huge, big enough for a family of five,
with posts at each corner and luxurious draped linens atop it that reminded me of a tent. The women helped me into it and under the covers on one side while I trembled, well aware that the fever still plagued me, spiking again now. The bath had only been a temporary reprieve.

One servant girl set to feeding me broth from the edge of a crystal cup until a man entered the room and all conversation hushed. The man strode over to me just as I was nodding off and roughly pulled aside the blankets. Instinctively, I moved to defend myself but I was far too slow and weak; even the maids were able to hold me down. One whispered, “It’s all right, miss. He’s a healer.”

I didn’t care who he was. I didn’t trust anyone in this place. But I had little choice but to succumb.

Swiftly, he ran his hands across my arms and legs — presumably to check for breaks — then moved his attentions to my ribs. I sucked in my breath as he ran light fingers across my right side. He paused, studied my face, and then probed again. I gasped.

“Bruised or broken ribs on her right side,” he muttered. Then he moved up to my face, leaning close enough to check out the cuts at my eye and lip that I could smell garlic on his breath. “Too long since injury for stitches,” he said again, almost to himself. “They will heal as they wish.”

“Surely there’s something you can do for those cuts,” said the matronly servant. “They will scar if —”

“I will leave herbs for a poultice,” he said abruptly. “It’s all I can do. Give her a cup of foxglove tea and evening wine. That will see her through most of the night. If she wakes, give her another cup of both. The girl needs warmth and rest. Food and water. She’s strong. With care, she’ll heal.” His
gaze moved to the silver and gold cuff on my arm and studied the intricate knots, one weaving into the next. He ran his finger along the edge, where the band had fused to my skin, and then looked at me, a hundred questions in his eyes, but remained silent. Then he turned to go. I think I started to fall asleep because I let my eyes droop, opened them with a start, and he was gone.

The maid poured a cup of evening wine as another set off to fetch the tea. I well remembered how the wine had affected me last time and took a few sips — just enough to help me sleep and shake this fever, but not enough that I would sleep through anything I didn’t want to. “Do you know where Keallach is? I need to speak to him.”

The maids shared a look of surprise. “No, miss. I haven’t heard anything about his highness and where he is. Only that he is away.”

I grabbed her hand and tried to will my urgency and anxiety into her, but she just looked at me with irritation. Confused at my inability to use my gift, I held on, still trying. “What about other prisoners? Was anyone else brought to the palace besides me?”

“I know naught, miss,” she said, gently prying off my hand and tucking my arm beneath the covers. “But you need to rest through the night before you go asking. You’re too weak to do anything but concentrate on healing. Agreed?”

I said nothing, but turned over. I wished I had the strength to go and search the palace to make certain that none of the other Ailith had been taken captive, but I assumed this palace was no smaller than Castle Vega with its acres of halls and rooms. I’d gotten lost in that one before. Chances were greater
that I’d be caught, and if they sent me to the dungeon . . . My trembling doubled in response to the thought.

No, I had to sleep. Sleep so I could rise tomorrow and have the strength to fight.

I awakened in the early dawn hours, a light breeze and pale sunlight streaming through my open window. It took me a moment to realize where I was. But then it all came to me at once. My fever had broken during the night. I was in Palace Pacifica — upstairs in the guest quarters — a prisoner of the empire. But I was hardly being treated as a prisoner any longer. In a rush of guilt, I sat up quickly, and then gasped in pain. My ribs . . .

But that’s when I saw I had company: Lord Maximillian Jala.

He sat in a chair in the corner of my cavernous room, calmly sipping something hot from a china cup with his legs crossed, as if he’d been prepared to wait for me to wake all morning.

Hurriedly, I pulled the sheet and blanket to my chest, as if they might lend some sort of protection, which he seemed to find charming.

“Ah, do not fear me, Andriana. If I was bent on retribution for the harm you and yours did me, I would’ve slit your throat in the night, or during any of the previous nights.” He set down his cup and waved in the air. “But my emperor has commanded me to forgive you, and forgive you I have.” He lifted one brow. “No, you are to be kept in good health, unmolested by me or anyone else.”

“Why?” I said, my tone dull, my eyes narrowing. “You didn’t hold back before.”

“Right,” he said, striding over to stand beside me. “But circumstances have . . . changed. You are now the emperor’s . . .
guest
. Not an enemy masquerading as my servant.”

I stared up at him. “That is not how Sethos treated me.”

“Indeed. Had I been here, I’d have put a stop to it. I did so, as soon as I arrived. Sethos has been reprimanded and is to come to you to apologize at some point. He is finding it . . .
challenging
to treat you as the emperor has dictated.” A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips as his eyes searched my face and exposed arms. “I’m afraid his highness has taken quite a liking to you. And his Council of Six, including me, shall follow his lead.” He paused to put his hand to his heart and bow slightly.

I sighed and sat up, wincing over the breath-stealing pain in my torso, but all the while keeping him in my sight. I tried to read him, and clenched my teeth in frustration when I failed. What sort of spell had Sethos woven here? And how might I break it?

Maximillian smiled gently. “Are you doing it now?” he asked with delight, sitting on the edge of my bed, beside me. “Attempting to use your empathic skills?”

I said nothing, resorting to trying to interpret his expression, body language, tone. From what I could tell, he seemed honest in his new pledge to protect me. Hadn’t it been his doing, seeing to my care? Bringing me here?

He reached out a hand. “Now try and cast emotion into me, as you did with Keallach. As you tried to do with Sethos.” He lifted it closer. “Go on.”

I knew he was baiting me, curious about the strength of my
gifting. And I knew that it would likely be difficult given the spell that Sethos had wound around these halls, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to try. How else would I find out how strong the sorcerer’s spell was? Tentatively, I reached out and held his wrist, the most I was willing to touch him. Then I tried to summon within me a sense of mercy. Care. Grace. But all I seemed to reach was my own anger, hatred, frustration, and no conduit at all opened between us.

His smile grew and he pulled away. “No? It is as Sethos says then —”

“Clearly I am of no use to you,” I said, pulling down the edge of my gown when I saw his eyes lingering on my bare calves. “Let me go. My gifting has left me.”

“Oh, no, no, no, my dear Andriana.” He leaned close, one lock of his dyed-blond hair falling over a brow. “It is not gone. We are simply in the process of putting it under proper restraints,” he said lightly. He straightened and smiled, hands out as if announcing something glorious. “We cannot have a Remnant in full command of her gifting out and about the empire, wreaking havoc, sowing seeds of discontent. We are all about peace here in Pacifica. Prosperity! You’ll soon see.”

He strode toward the door and opened it. “Sethos doesn’t wish for you to read him. But me?” He grinned, showing off his straight, white teeth. “I’m an open book. I’ll tell Sethos that I’ve granted you permission. I, for one, find it fascinating. Until tomorrow?”

I grimaced, visualizing Maximillian at one of his Castle Vega dinner parties, forcing me to use my gifting as some sort of odd parlor trick for his guests’ entertainment. “Don’t rush back, Lord Jala.”

He laughed at that, so hard he looked up at the ceiling, then
back to me. “Oh, this will be fun. We haven’t had a woman with a backbone in the court in ages. Rest and heal, Andriana of the Valley. There is much ahead.”

With that, he exited and carefully closed the door, locking it behind him.

CHAPTER
19

RONAN

W
e all stared at Niero, wishing we’d misheard him. That he’d forgotten his mad plan.

“You want us to go back,” Vidar said flatly. “To places and to people who tried to kill us.”

“Yes. That is where the Maker calls us — to the people in most desperate need of hope,” Niero replied. “We are to go to the Drifters. To Georgii Post. To Zanzibar.”

We were all silent again.

“People that desperate,” said Killian, “will make martyrs out of the faithful. We cannot change the world if we are dead.”

Niero turned kind eyes on him. “The Maker will make use of our lives, whether our days stretch far or short, right?” He waited Killian out, not releasing him from his gaze.

“Right,” Killian said at last.

“But I’d really, really rather go for that long stretch,” Vidar said. “Who’s with me?”

We all smiled and laughed under our breath. But I was certain every one of our mouths were dry.

“Why?” I asked. “Why go back to those places? Where they know us? Where they might be on the lookout for us from the beginning?”

“Because it is there,” Asher said, eyes alight, as if in silent communion with Niero, “that the story of the Way is already whispered and shared. If you return now, with our Remnants in full command of their gifting” — he paused to gesture toward Tressa, Chaza’el, and Kapriel — “our healer, our seer, our miracle worker . . . our Prince,” he amended, “the whisper shall become a shout!”

Asher clasped his hands, eyes shining, and then lifted his face and hands to the top of the cave. “Glory to the Maker!”

“Glory to the Maker!” we repeated, caught up in his joy.

“Is it possible?” I asked Niero. “Do you really think it is possible for us to enter and exit these cities and not be imprisoned?”

Niero’s smile, which had spread with Asher’s words, melted into a sober, somber line. “I think it is possible we will be imprisoned and tortured, even unto death.”

“You do know how to rally a crowd, don’t you?” Vidar said with sigh.

“But I am certain that the Maker has asked us to go,” Niero pressed on, ignoring him. “We must trust him to sustain us regardless of what is to come. He did not bring the Ailith into this world for you to cower in caves, hiding from the enemy. He brought you into the world to bring together the people, to lead them back to the Way. To bring hope and direction and light for people long lost to the darkness. It is
time for the awakening. And that shall not come easily. Are you ready?”

His dark eyes shifted around at each of us, even the Aravanders behind us, and he then reached out his fist.

“I’ve never been fond of caves,” Vidar said, putting his hand on Niero’s.

Silently, the rest of us placed a hand atop the others. The Aravanders clasped our shoulders.

“Are you ready to go where you are called?” Niero asked again.

“We are ready,” we said as one.

ANDRIANA

With each day that passed, my pain eased. Sethos and Lord Jala appeared to have left the palace, which both aggravated and pleased me. It pleased me in that time with them would only mean taunting and trouble; it aggravated me because they were the only people I knew of in the entire palace who might be able to tell me when Keallach would return.

By day five I was pacing the room for hours, eating only what was necessary from lavish food trays that could have fed twenty. By day seven, I was pacing the room and continually trying the door, as if it might magically open. The guards became more and more wary as they entered, and I noticed they added two more to their retinue when delivering food and taking away the picked-over trays.

I awoke on day eight knowing that something had to change. I got out of bed, stripped to my underclothes and stretched, noting that for the first time my ribs weren’t killing me. I ran my fingers over each one and felt the odd bulge that
I figured was a broken bone healing oddly. It was still more bruised than the others — a dark purple where the rest were turning green — and there was a cut that had scabbed over. Perhaps the rib had actually punctured the skin. I was just lucky that infection hadn’t set in over those days where they’d left me alone in my fever. Or maybe it had.

I shook my head and fell to my toes and hands, doing five sets of ten push-ups, then turning to make my way through some sit-ups too. That still made my torso cry out, but I knew I had to work my muscles if I was to regain my strength. And I’d need my strength in the days ahead. Without Ronan to take the lead in my battles . . . I rose and jogged around and around the room after throwing open the curtains on all three tall windows, each covered with bars on the outside. When I’d worked up a sweat, which didn’t take long in my weakened state, I went to the bathroom that attached to my room. As much as I loathed being imprisoned here, I knew that as long as I lived, I’d dream about the comforts of this small room.