Remnants: Season of Fire (3 page)

His green eyes lingered on the goblet for a moment, and I felt a wash of dismay. What had he intended? To get me to imbibe until I relaxed? I remembered the Drifters by the river, drunk to the point of passing out in the cave. Had he hoped that I’d soon be the same? I narrowed my eyes at him.

But again, I detected no malice within him.

“Please, Andriana, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair beside the couch, covered in a deep, rich red fabric that reminded me of the Sheolites’ capes. Swallowing my distaste, I forced myself to do as he asked. He went to the table and picked up a platter, covered in a hammered bronze dome. “You must be hungry after your long journey.”

He sat on the corner of the couch nearest me and placed the platter on the table between us. Delicious smells of garlic and butter wafted upward as he lifted the dome and set it aside. Underneath was a steaming tureen of soup beside a ladle and two bowls. A round of brown bread was beside it, along with a small ramekin full of fresh-churned butter, which was
glistening on the surface. In spite of myself, I licked my lips. It had been a full day since we’d last eaten, our supplies from the mountain camp all consumed.

Keallach tore off a chunk of bread, picked up a knife, and slathered the bread with butter, then passed it to me. I watched him carefully as he ladled some of the thick stew — heavy with meat and carrots and potatoes — into my bowl, then served himself. I liked that he didn’t have a servant for this. I also liked that I could watch his every move, so that I might have confidence that what I was eating, he too ate. He was about to take his first bite when he saw my hesitation. His spoon lowered. “What’s this? Does it not look appetizing? Or . . .” His eyebrows lifted. “You wait to pray? Please. Allow me.”

He bowed his head and I tentatively did the same, still keeping my eyes on him, even as he closed his own. “Thank you that you have brought us together, Maker. Thank you for this day and for this food. Amen.”

“Amen,” I whispered, my mind racing in confusion. This one prayed? And I’d felt genuine gratitude from him. I was certain of it. Hope surged in me and I found myself smiling just as Keallach took a bite of soup and looked up at me. My armband had grown neutral, its incessant cold ache fading to blood temperature again.

“What is it?” he said, after he swallowed. A smile warmed his handsome face, and I thought of him again on the night we’d first met in the Wadi sanctuary.

“Nothing,” I dodged, giving my head a little shake. I eagerly took my own first bite, scalding my mouth but not caring. The meat was tender, the vegetables and broth delicious. I took a bite of the bread and found it was freshly made and soft. I shoved away guilty thoughts of Ronan and the rest without
food, and decided to look for a way to hide part of the bread to share with them later. I’d ask for seconds on my stew and fill up on that instead . . . and slide my own remaining bread into my sleeve.

“Andriana?” Keallach asked softly.

I looked up at him, feeling caught in my own plans.

“Are you all right?”

“I am,” I said slowly, wondering what he was getting at.

“You aren’t just hungry. You’re ravenous. Your friends . . . in the mountains. They did not feed you?”

I took another bite and considered the lack of alarm within him. There was still no sense of menace. Did he already know about Chaza’el’s village among the treehouses and mountain caves? Or did he consider them harmless? Chaza’el said they’d never been visited by Sheolites, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t known they were there.

“We found no friends in the mountains. Ronan and I managed to forage for enough food to sustain us,” I lied, fearful I’d betray Chaza’el. “But this is far more delicious than anything I’ve had in days.” I took another bite and met his gaze. “I’m here to hear about you, not tell you about me, right? Wasn’t that our deal in order to secure passage and see Kapriel? To hear your side of things?”

He set aside his empty bowl and leaned back against his chair, crossing one leg over his other knee. “Truthfully, I’d hoped to learn as much about you as I shared about myself. My story is terribly . . . public. Yours is far more secretive . . . and therefore, intriguing.”

I swallowed my last bite and leaned toward the tureen. “May I?”

“Please,” he said, waving a generous hand toward the stew.

I could feel his curious eyes cover me, from the tips of my nails up my arms, to my neck and face, then down. I ignored the sensation even as a shiver ran down my neck.

“You might think of your story as public. For Pacificans,” I said. “But for those of us living in the Trading Union, we know far less.”

“Even among the Ailith?” he asked, cocking one brow again. A shadow of his defensiveness laced his tone.

“I have heard some about you,” I allowed. “But I think I’d like to hear it straight from the source.”

The muscles in his cheeks worked as if he tensed at the thought. “I’ll ask you to keep an open mind, Andriana. Undoubtedly, they’ve told you half-truths. That’s always what gets shared. Half-truths and lies.”

I felt the bitterness in him. The hurt. The wounding.

“Half-truths?” I said. In spite of my empathy for him, I couldn’t deny my own rising anger. “Tell me what is untruthful. That you denied all you’d been taught by your trainer, imprisoned your twin, and seized the Pacifican throne for yourself? Tell me how you could ignore the Call. How you could possibly turn away from it on that night of nights?”

His eyes shot to mine again and hardened. Then he lifted his chin, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “I haven’t denied what I have been taught. I simply disagreed with our parents. There have never, in the entire history of our world, been brother kings. It would never work. One always has to take the lead, or divide their realms. And I am the eldest . . . the first out of the womb. By rights, the throne is mine. By rights.”

I nodded slowly. I could see why he’d consider it that way. “But Keallach, we are not like any others that have come before us. We Ailith were born entirely for this purpose . . . to save the
world. What if you got in the Maker’s way by turning from the path laid before you?”

Keallach tapped his fingertips together, still leaning forward. “I pray that I did not.” He bowed his head and scratched the back of his neck, then lifted his face. “You must believe me, Andriana. My intention is for good. For the good of all.”

I searched him, then. His words were true. Or at least he believed what he was saying. “But Keallach, you are . . . the Sheolites. Sethos . . .” I gestured to the guard at the door, feeling suddenly heavy, weary, utterly exhausted.

“Leave us,” Keallach said.

“Highness?” the guard responded.

“Stand outside if you must. But my friend shall speak more freely without you here. Leave us.”

“Yes, Highness.”

I watched as the burly man disappeared into the night, closing the door with more grace and care than expected. Then I looked to Keallach. “Those men are lost. They are of the dark. And you are surrounded by them.”

“You judge them harshly,” he said evenly, quietly.

I scoffed. “If you had seen what I have seen —”

He held up a hand. “Perhaps there is a way that is between us. A place where the forked path unites again.”

I frowned. What he said made as much sense as water turning to dust. Not after what I’d felt on that battlefield when we fought the Sheolites. The depths of darkness, despair. Death itself, fighting to take me down, hold me down until I suffocated, choking on my own loss of hope.

“Don’t you see, Andriana?” he asked, rising and pacing the short room, one hand on his head, one gesturing to me. “All people respond to power. It is what drives them. And what am
I on the cusp of? Ultimate power. Within months, the entire Trading Union will bow to me as emperor. We will claim the rebels and outliers in time. Together, we shall rebuild this country, and begin to claim others. Together, we will establish unification of the entire world. Peace. This is the moment to seize it. Upon its rebirth. I wager you’ve learned enough of humanity’s history to know that once each power is developed, they will resist bowing to another. But right now . . .” His eyes danced with possibility. “It’s like the opportunity to train up a child rather than try and remake a man. I really think it could work.”

I stared at him. So his quest for ultimate power was true. But the way he put it, the goal was not for glory and riches, but rather for something we all might cheer for — peace. My mind whirled, grasping for truth, trying to make sense of what I’d learned. “But what of Pacifica? What of your methods of stealing children in Georgii Post? Wrenching them away from their parents and spiriting them off to be adopted in your own land or put to work in the factories and mines?”

He stilled and stared at me, mouth agape. “What? What are you talking about?”

“The children. The reaping. I saw it for myself. Armed guards, stealing away children to be adopted by the childless across the Wall.”

He shook his head, and I felt the confusion in him. “We adopt children who have no hope, no future. But the children are brought to us, given to our soldiers. It is sad, the conditions that leave them in such a desperate place —”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not how it happens there. We saw children ripped from an orphanage ourselves.”

“There are no sanctioned orphanages in Georgii Post.
Perhaps a few good-hearted people showing kindnesses, but I assure you, we take far better care of them in Pacifica. Most are put into our very own homes; some are given a place to eat, sleep, work.”

I shook my head again. “Why is that? Why not sanction an orphanage? And what right does Pacifica have, dictating what goes on at Georgii Post?”

Keallach lifted a brow. “I just told you. In time, it shall be part of the greater empire, for their own good.”

“For their own good? Keallach, I saw soldiers rip a child from his parents’ arms! If that is what it means to be part of your ‘empire,’ I’ll be certain to lead the rebels against you.”

Keallach frowned and seemed to take a moment to gather himself. “If what you say is true, I want to get to the bottom of it. It’s not how I want it,” he said, slicing his hand in the air, a red blush arriving at his jawline. “But it is exactly those sorts of things that I seek to remedy. Don’t you see?” he asked, stepping closer to me. “You’ve likely glimpsed enough of Pacifica’s prosperity en route to the wharf. I will gladly show you more of our success here, myself. Eventually, places like Georgii Post will be more like Pacifica. The entire Trading Union will institute laws and have governance that will bring about needed change. Castle Vega. Even Zanzibar, in time.”

I stared at him. He honestly believed it. He thought he was on a righteous, true path. I reached for my goblet and took a swallow. “What of your brother? Why did he not agree with this plan?”

“I have not spoken to my brother in many seasons,” he said. His eyes were on the dark porthole as if he could peer through the night.

“Why?”

He shook his head and sat down again heavily.

“But you happened to choose this night, this ship, to go to him?”

“I’d heard . . . There are some that say . . .” His eyes moved back to the porthole again, and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Word reached me that Kapriel was unwell. Frail. He’s refused food for some time.” He looked at me, miserable. “Andriana, I wanted Kapriel out of my way. Far out of my way. But I never wanted to see him die.”

Again, I felt the longing, the pain within him. Love for his brother. I was lost in a tornado of thought. Could it be? Had the elders misunderstood about Keallach? Might I be able to broker peace? Bring Keallach into the Ailith fold, even now when he was considered lost to us?

I felt his eyes on me, the desperation, the hope, the desire for connection, and rose quickly, hoping a little pacing of my own might straighten out my thoughts. But then a question stilled me.

“Keallach, where is your knight?” Every Remnant had been paired with a Knight upon their twelfth year. Where was his? I half turned to face him and felt a pang of fear run through him. My eyes narrowed. Fear?

His face darkened, and he looked away again. I could feel pain in his memory. “My knight was killed at the same time Kapriel was sent to the Isle of Catal.” He looked me full in the face. “He killed Kapriel’s knight in the same battle.”

I swallowed hard. “They killed each other.” My words came out in a whisper. Such a waste, such a loss. My Ailith brothers or sisters . . .

“It was a terrible day,” he said, grief lacing his voice. “And it got worse. My parents would not abide by my decision.”

I stared at him, wondering if he’d be willing to be fully honest. “What happened to them?”

“They . . . died.”

“You killed them.”

His blue-green eyes shot up to meet mine. “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “No. I did not.”

I frowned. “Then who did?”

He took a breath, then a second. “Another.”

Another
. I had a good idea who that might be. “Keallach . . . When did Sethos enter your court?”

“Sethos was the captain of my father’s guard. I asked him to take . . . my knight’s place.”

I stared at him, thinking that I might’ve misheard him. My arm cuff seemed to grow colder at the mere mention of the man’s name. “You asked him to?”

He nodded once, his eyes on mine, measuring my reaction, even as pain and grief continued to lance through him.

“And . . . before you asked him to do so . . . Were you . . . friends?”

His lips clamped together as he stared at me. “You’re asking if he influenced my decisions.”

“Yes.”

“No more than I allowed. And now . . . Andriana, if you could see Pacifica, see my court, see my people, you would see a
good
kingdom. My kingdom,” he said, touching his chest. “A kingdom worthy of leading an empire. And it’s my doing. Not Sethos’s.”

I turned away and stared at the crackling fire dancing behind a soot-covered screen. Was this the fissure I sought? Had Sethos been the one to influence my brother? Turn him
away from the right path? Was this why Sethos had wanted to destroy us before we got anywhere near him?