Remnants: Season of Fire (27 page)

I paused. To speak of them felt vaguely dangerous, treasonous. And yet he had to be so curious about our brothers and sisters too. Conflicted, I remained silent.

He ran a hand down the windowsill and looked outward again. “We’ve heard stories . . . of a female healer. A brother who prophesies. They perform miracles, and then they move. Even now, their following grows out there in the Union.”

It was happening, just as the elders said. Finally, the Remnants weren’t on the run. They were claiming territory.

Keallach took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “In this, there are the seeds of anarchy. Total social unrest.”

“I don’t know if you’ve wandered farther than Castle Vega or Georgii Post, but out in the Desert, I can tell you, it’s anarchy anyway.”

“I want to bring the Drifters to account. I want to bring every town, every kingdom to account. I want to bring them together. But the Remnants . . . Well, if they continue on this path, they may just divide everyone further.”

“That isn’t what you fear,” I said, with a shake of my head. “You fear the Remnants will unify the Union. Make them stronger, against Pacifica.”

“You believe the Remnants can bring together the Drifters? The Zanzibians? They don’t have the strength.”

“No. But they have the power.”

We were both silent for a moment.

A buzzing sound startled us both. He reached for a small device at his belt, looked at it, and then at me. “I must leave you,” he said, a touch of regret in his voice and in his eyes. “We must not always devolve to such serious matters, Andriana. There’s a gathering tonight. I’d like you to come with me.”

“What sort of gathering?”

He was backing away, a teasing glint in his eyes. “A dancing sort of gathering. I’ll send a gown for you. I’d like you to wear it.”

I shook my head. “No. That would be entirely improper. I’m hardly in a dancing mood.”

“You might be surprised, once you’re there. I think you’ll find me a good dance partner.”

I shook my head again. “I can’t, Keallach.”

He rested his hand on the knob of my door, his jaw clenching. “I must insist.”

We were again back to Keallach as a petulant boy, demanding his own way. I longed to deny him, to show him that a man could take a refusal and move beyond it. That there were more important bonds between friends. But I understood that this would somehow destroy every rickety bridge I’d forged with him. “I don’t even know your Pacifican dances,” I tried. “I’ll embarrass you.”

“Nonsense. It will be great fun, teaching you. And you can teach my people a dance of the Valley!” A smile broke across his face. “It will be just the sort of thing we need to begin to do. A small step toward diplomacy.”

My stomach clenched. It felt so wrong. To dress up, dance, when my Ailith kin were probably bedding down on dirt floors.

Keallach said simply, “Be ready at sundown,” the decision clearly already made. And then he left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

I returned to staring out the window, thinking of Ronan, wishing he was here to help me sort out what was going on. He would hold me, reassure me, help me come up with a plan.

I wondered over all I had shared with Keallach earlier, and
realized then that my trainer’s words hadn’t been only for him. They were for me too. I’d been relying on my own gifting, my own power, for too long now. I needed to return to the Maker. To concentrate on him, especially in this palace, surrounded by so many of his enemies. As much as I felt I was making inroads with Keallach, I couldn’t help worrying that he was making as much progress with me.

And with that thought, I moved to my knees and bowed in prayer.

CHAPTER
23

RONAN

H
ealing the Drifter leader resulted in motorized transport for the following week. We were led from camp to camp, where Chaza’el continued to share visions of the future — which came to pass, time after time — Kapriel commanded wind and rain, and Tressa healed. Some refused to follow us after that, terrified by what they saw; many more pledged their lives. The various groups of Drifters became one, in a fashion. And they were a rowdy, chaotic group, far from the kind and gentle Communities we’d come across to date. But it didn’t bother Niero.

“Just as the Maker planned,” he said with a grin, as we sat upon a rock watching the tenth sunset since I’d last seen Andriana. Below us was a sprawling camp, full of hundreds of men, women, and children, the Drifters’ vehicles forming a wall of sorts on the outskirts.

“A beautiful sight, are they not?” Asher asked, climbing up
beside us. Behind him were Azarel and Chaza’el. I assumed Kapriel, Tressa, and Killian were all down below, moving among the people, continuing to heal.

“Beautiful?” scoffed Azarel, accepting Niero’s hand to help her up onto the last boulder. “They’re the ugliest, dirtiest bunch I’ve ever seen.”

“Beautiful,” Asher confirmed, eyes shining as he looked over the entire camp, then to Niero, who crossed his arms and nodded in similar satisfaction.

“The Maker begins with the humble, the outcasts,” Niero said.

“I don’t see humble outcasts,” Azarel said, shifting her bow strap higher on her shoulder. “I see an army.”

Her word startled us all. We’d sensed the growing power, felt purely from our swelling numbers. But an army? She was right. Between the remaining Aravanders — who continued to pour out into the desert after us — and the Drifters, with all their weapons and vehicles and their declaration to support and follow us wherever we led . . . If we could gather twice as many as we had here, we might be able to take on a contingent from Pacifica.
Maybe
. . .

A woman screamed below. Men were shoving one another. I turned to make my way down, but Niero stopped me. “Wait. Watch,” he said, nodding back at the group.

Kapriel was pushing two men apart, speaking to them in sharp tones, but we couldn’t make out what he was saying. Killian and Tressa edged through the crowd, into their circle, then Vidar and Bellona, and I was able to breathe a little easier. They’d protect the prince.

But it turned out the prince didn’t need protecting. Each of the Ailith took a knee as Kapriel lifted his arms, and instinctively, we did too. The others did as well — at least those
Drifters and Aravanders who had already committed to following us. Kapriel was looking intently at the sky, his fingers waving in such an elegant manner that I thought it belonged in a dance.

The clouds above us began to wave, as clearly as we’d seen waves wash ashore while in Pacifica. Except this action felt far greater, covering the entire sky and growing in intensity. My cuff warmed; my breath caught. People below cried out in fear; anyone still on their feet sank to the ground. Some cowered as if they feared that Kapriel would call down lightning.

But his face was radiant, a smile lighting up his entire face. Our armbands grew hot and Vidar raised his arms, praising the Maker so loudly we could easily make out his words from high above. Kapriel was still speaking — sharing words of the hope and glory available to all, I was certain — and I felt the tears slip down my cheeks as I smiled, smiled at the blessing it was to serve with these fine people. And yet the joy was fleeting; I also ached, deep within, that Andriana was absent. Not observing, experiencing this unfolding with us. It was happening, and she was missing it.

Niero put a hand on my shoulder, and I saw that there were tears on his black cheeks as well. “Trust in the Maker, brother. And his timing. As well as your Remnant.”

I nodded, but inside I thought,
How will we ever get her back?

ANDRIANA

The maids bustled in as a veiled sun sank over the ocean. The skies were heavy with clouds, a marine layer that seemed to creep inland every afternoon, blocking any view of what I
knew had to be a beautiful sunset beyond it. It was much like the Sheolites, I mused. In the last couple of days, I’d realized that I was growing accustomed to regular meals, servants at my beck and call, quiet, stillness. But it was a dulling sensation I had to fight against, a cajoling that might steal away the fight. I could not succumb to it. I had to escape as soon as I could, and hopefully instill enough connection with Keallach that he would come too, leaving our enemies behind.

I turned from the window as servants unfolded a wide blanket to show me the gown beneath. I sucked in my breath. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, far more beautiful than anything I’d ever thought to wear. It was a creamy ivory with a wide neck and narrow sleeves, a tight bodice covered in tiny pearls, and a voluminous skirt with folds of heavy silk fabric. I looked to the nearest maid. “I cannot wear that,” I said.

“Why not?” she asked in confusion. “It’s beyond lovely.”

“Well, yes. But it looks like . . . Well, it looks like a bridal gown.”

Her brown eyebrows lifted and then she laughed. “But it’s not,” she said, waving toward it and then placing her hand on her hip, as if to dare me to protest further. “All the ladies will be in hues of white.”

“If this is not a betrothal gown,” I said, frowning, “what on earth do you Pacificans wear for a wedding?”

The maids laughed at that, together, as if I was a funny actor in a play. “Everyone knows we wear blue for the betrothal ceremony,” scoffed one. “As everyone shall, once the empire is unified.” She moved behind me, unhooking the neck of my gown, but I pulled away.

“No, I, uh . . . I cannot wear that one, still,” I said, staring at it and then back to them. The trio looked back at me,
baffled. “Don’t you have another I could borrow? Something more plain, perhaps.”

The older one frowned and took charge. “No, m’lady. This is the one his highness has chosen for you, and the one you shall wear.”

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head, feeling this all was more wrong than ever. Even if I’d given in to attending the dance.

“I’m afraid you think you have a choice,” said the older maid, sorrow hooding her eyes. “If you do not allow us to dress you, we will force you into it.”

“And if I fight you off?”

A pall of silence covered us. “Then the captain and his men shall come and do so. And you don’t want that.”

Sethos? Sethos and his men would force me into a dress? The thought of it made me want to laugh and cry at once.

“Come,” said a younger girl, taking my hand. “Why not enjoy it, m’lady? When else will you have such an opportunity? To wear a gown this fine? To dance with a man as handsome as our emperor,” she added in a whisper, then turned to giggle with the other girl.

But my eyes were still on the older woman. She stared stonily back at me. I had no choice in this, just as I had no true freedom in where I went here in Pacifica. I could do this easily, or I could do this in a far more difficult manner. But one way or another, they would have their way.

I allowed them to peel the Pacifican day gown from me, leaving only the band I wore wrapped around my breasts. When a maid reached to unpin it, I grabbed her hand. “No, leave it.”

“But it’s unsuitable,” she protested. “It will show under the gown.”

“We have another undergarment,” said the older maid,
lifting an elaborate contraption that looked more like an old corset I’d once seen in Tonna’s trading post tent. But I assented. They wrapped the device around me and fastened it at my lower back. The ribbing in it forced me to stand straighter. But when they slipped the gown over my shoulders, I could see why the banding I routinely wore wouldn’t work. The shoulders of the gown dropped into a deep V behind me. I could feel the cool wash of air across the skin between my shoulders and shivered. I shook my head. “Please,” I said to the older maid, the leader, “isn’t there another I could wear?”

“No,” she said, turning me abruptly and tending to a row of buttons at my lower back. “This is the one the emperor chose,” she said again.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip, concentrating on the one fact that assuaged my horror over all of this: attending this party just might give me the chance to win over Keallach, once and for all. It was a delicate internal dance of its own — this process of wrenching open the iron jaws of the dark and pulling my brother toward the light using every method I could think of. Even a dress . . .

Once it was on, the maids led me to a stool and lifted the skirt over the edge, so as not to rumple it, I assumed. Then the two younger women set to brushing out my hair, each on one side. When they were finished, they took to taking sections and winding it up and then pinning it to my scalp. In some sections, they wound either strands of tiny pearls or silver thread into it. I winced and complained as they pulled and rammed pins into my scalp while another woman brushed and swiped makeup on me, but at last they were done.

They stood back, and I could feel their collective glee before I even glanced in the mirror. My mouth fell open. I
barely looked like myself. They’d put ivory powder across my cheeks and nose and heavy liner and shadow around my eyes in the ghoulish manner popular among the women here. My lips glistened with a raisin-colored gloss. My hair was in an elaborate style that made it look like a crown of sorts. I shook my head. “No, no,” I whispered, reaching up to lick my fingers and begin scrubbing the awful powder from my cheeks.

The women all grabbed at my hands and shrieked in horror. “You must not!” cried the older one, chastising me like she was my nursemaid.

“I look dead!” I cried back.

“You do not. You are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” said the woman, crossing her arms across her chest. The two others stood on either side of her, wringing their hands.

I knew I’d offended them. They’d made me up like the rest of the Pacifican women. I swallowed hard. Perhaps it was best if I blended in. Maybe I’d be less of a spectacle. “The hair,” I began, seeking something to soften my verbal blows. “Never, in my whole life, have I seen anything so pretty.”

Smiles broke out on their faces and there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief. They nodded eagerly, so intent was their desire to please me.

“I just . . . I just don’t feel right with all of this on my face,” I said. “Please, won’t you permit me to soften it a bit?”