Remnants: Season of Fire (33 page)

We were sound asleep when Vidar, who’d been on watch with Bellona, shook me awake. “Company coming,” he said, moving on to Killian, who was already stirring.

I was on my feet in seconds, pulling on my jacket and grabbing hold of my sword. I didn’t bother to strap it on — I needed to get outside fast.

The vehicle that pulled up to our camp was in finer condition than any others we’d ever seen outside of Pacifica, the paint reflecting the waning bonfire beside me, the windows free of cracks. Killian and I shared a long look as other Drifters came up behind us, weapons at the ready. Two Aravanders drew back arrows across their bows.

“Nobody fire unless I command it,” Niero said. “Understood?”

The driver’s door of the enclosed Jeep opened, and we saw hands first. “Don’t shoot! We mean you no harm!”

“Come out, slowly. Alone.”

The man rose, and we could see he was in a Pacifican lord’s tunic and boots. I stiffened.

But Kapriel sputtered a name under his breath. “Cyrus?” he said again, louder and clearer this time. “Is that you?”

Lord Cyrus’s tense face broke into a smile of wonder. “Kapriel?”

Kapriel broke away from our line and went over to him. The two embraced, the sort of hug that spoke of long-separated but dear friends. When they broke apart, I saw tears in Lord Cyrus’s eyes. I sidled closer to Vidar. “Anything?” I whispered, wondering if he was sensing danger that I could not.

“No. The guy’s clean.”

I laughed under my breath. A Pacifican lord? Why would he be here, in our camp?

“You recognize him, right?” Vidar asked me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head and searching his features again. We’d met. Somewhere.

“That’s Lord Cyrus, one of the Six. One of Keallach’s Council.”

I frowned. “You
sure
he’s clean?”

“Yeah. Check out your arm cuff. Neutral, right? Maybe even a little warm?”

“Right,” I said. But it didn’t make any sense.

Cyrus and Kapriel spoke for several long moments, then Kapriel turned to us. “He has a woman with him. They need to see Tressa.”

Understanding dawned. One thing had forced Lord Cyrus to risk everything in order to see us. To bridge the gap between him and a long-lost friend, a step that might brand him a traitor.

He needed a healer.

Kapriel came closer to us.

“He could be a spy, Kapriel,” Killian said.

“He could be,” Kapriel allowed, nodding. “But I choose to believe he might be the most critical friend we could make. Let us see this through and find out where the Maker is leading us, yes?”

“I don’t trust it,” Killian said.

“Face it, man. You hardly trust anything but the Maker,” Vidar said. “I think your Rem needs to heal your
attitude.
”

Killian scowled at him, but then left to wake Tressa. A woman handed him a gas lamp and soon her tent glowed with warm light. I turned to see Lord Cyrus return to his car. He’d taken a huge risk coming here — not only the fear of being branded a traitor, but also the risk of us kidnapping him or stealing his vehicle because he’d come without a single armed guard.

Cyrus lifted a woman in Pacifican dress from the other side of the vehicle, every aspect of his movement tender and caring. The sight of the dress sent a pang of longing through me, for Dri. She’d been so pretty in a gown like that, and likely wore one now.

Kapriel led Lord Cyrus into Tressa’s tent, gesturing for Vidar and me to join them. The knights took up watch around the tent, and Niero leaned toward an Aravander who’d joined us. “Assemble and send four teams of Aravanders and Drifters to scout farther out than the others already in rotation. I want to know if anyone else is coming our way.”

“On it,” he said, padding off.

Reassured that we had reasonable protection, I entered the tent. They’d laid the woman on Tressa’s bedroll, and gathered around her. She was lovely, about our age, with long, sable-brown hair that waved about her horribly pale face. My breath caught, wondering if she was already dead.

“She’s been poisoned,” Cyrus said to Tressa, lifting the woman’s hand in his. “Please, you must save her. I love her.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t stay in the castle and watch her die. I knew you could save her.”

“Who poisoned her?” Killian barked.

A flash of guilt appeared on Cyrus’s face. “I know not. Her name is Justina. She’s a consort at court. They are there to . . . entertain us.”

I saw that he had the decency to blush a bit over this, and liked him a little more. Andriana had told me enough of the ways of the Six while at Castle Vega. It didn’t take much imagination to understand what he meant.

“My family . . . my position . . . I am meant to wed another soon, in Pacifica. But this woman . . .” He turned desperate eyes toward Tressa. “I love her. Please, save her. She’s one of you. A devotee of the Maker. It was she who whispered to me of your presence. She wanted me to come with her, to run away from Pacifica.” He shook his head and brought up a hand to his face. “It’s impossible, what she was asking. But she doesn’t deserve to die.”

“She was poisoned because someone knew her to be a follower of the Way?” Niero asked, eyes hardening.

“No,” Kapriel replied grimly, for Cyrus, figuring it out. “She was poisoned because she held Lord Cyrus’s heart. And he is betrothed to another.”

Justina’s breathing became more rapid, her color fading
to gray as we watched. Tressa knelt across from Cyrus and took up Justina’s other hand. “You must know, Lord Cyrus,” she said softly, “that we were sent here to bring the people back to the Maker. Are you a follower of the Maker?”

“I . . .” His eyes shifted to Kapriel and then back to her. “I think . . . yes, I think I am.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “In a moment, I believe the Maker will affirm that belief. Pray with me. All of you, reach out and touch her and pray with me. She is moments away from breathing her last.”

We all did as she asked, and I laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder, her skin terrifyingly cold. And as Tressa sank deeply into prayer, pleading with the Maker who had created Justina in her mother’s womb to now wash the poisons from her body, to flush the toxins away, to bring her back to us, whole again, I could feel the Spirit draw closer, surrounding us with a rush that was better than the company of angels. The hair on the back of my neck and arms stood on end and I smiled, reveling in the presence. On and on, Tressa prayed, committing Justina’s life and future to the Maker, not begging him to heal her, but rather more like simply waiting on him to do what we believed he wanted to do.

Justina’s flesh began to warm. I sensed that her breathing slowed. She seemed calmer, as if her entire body was allowing the tension to slide away. Her skin began to pinken again. And then her eyes opened, her long lashes fluttering in confusion, trying to focus.

Lord Cyrus wept, laughing. “Justina? Oh, my love? Justina?”

“C-Cyrus?” she said, turning her face to him. “What happened? Where . . .” But then her eyes widened as she looked around at all of us. “Is it possible?” she asked, sitting up and
gazing around at us in wonder, covering her mouth as if we ourselves were angels. She accepted Cyrus’s embrace and kisses, but her eyes remained on us. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, sister,” Kapriel said with a grin, taking her hand. “You are here, in Community. At long last.”

If it was possible, her eyes widened even further, when she saw him, this time in sudden terror, then confusion. “You are not . . .” She glanced toward Cyrus. “This is not the emperor.”

“No, this is Prince Kapriel, Justina.”

Understanding dawned. “My prince,” she said immediately, reverently bowing her head.

Kapriel put a finger under her chin and lifted it. “You bow to no one, Justina. You are a free woman here. Servant only of the Maker and our Community.”

She nodded, smiling, but then her eyes grew curious again, clearly wondering how she got here.

But Cyrus was looking about at all of us, and rising. “I am forever in your debt. I will serve you and your cause in any way I can. I’ll leave the Council immediately and —”

“No,” Kapriel said, walking over to him. “I’m afraid I must ask you to do something far more dangerous than that. I need you to return to Pacifica.”

My heart leaped. He was sending him back to Keallach?

“Back?” Cyrus said.

“Yes. We need a friend inside Keallach’s Council. A spy. As well as a friend for Andriana.”

“Someone to help us take them down from within,” Killian said.

“Tell us, is Andriana well? Can you help us get to her?” I asked.

Cyrus looked at me. “She is well. But she is constantly
guarded by the Sheolites. And the emperor . . .” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know how long I’d be of use to you. If they find out I was
here,
with you . . .” Cyrus said, fear making his expression grim.

“They’ll kill you,” Kapriel finished for him. “It is frightening. I ask much of you. But will you do it?”

Cyrus looked around at all of us, and his eyes steeled with decision. “I will. I will serve you, the Maker, and your people —
our
people — in any way I can. Perhaps if you can reign, you can bring Pacifica back to the Way too.”

Kapriel nodded in understanding. The two stepped away to confer in low tones for several minutes. When they returned, Justina slipped into Cyrus’s embrace and he kissed her temple. “You must stay here. Whoever tried to kill you might try again.”

She nodded, through her tears. “Come back to me, Cyrus.”

“I’ll do everything I can to do so,” he pledged. “But first I must do this.”

She nodded again.

Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck. “The castle wall guards know I left with her. They’ll want to know why I am not returning with her.”

“What reason did you tell them you were leaving, without guard?” I asked.

His face colored. “I said I wanted . . . time alone with her,” he said. “It was all I could think of,” he hurried on. “They thought her drunk on evening wine.”

My mind raced. “Take me,” I said. “Say that you two were attacked. Justina killed. And that I was your attacker, a wretched Knight of the Last Order and sworn enemy of Pacifica.” I looked to Niero. “You all break camp now and
disappear. We’ll return to the castle just before daybreak, me as Cyrus’s prisoner, to give you time to gain some distance.”

“They’ll take you directly to Keallach!” Lord Cyrus said, mouth partially agape. “To the Six! We’re heading back to Pacifica tomorrow. You’ll be beaten, man! Placed in the palace dungeon.”

“I hope so,” I said, waiting on him to understand my goal.

Killian was smiling now. “About as close as he could possibly get to his Remnant,” he said.

“You sly dog, you!” Vidar said, punching me in the arm. “That’s crazy-stupid, but also crazy-brave.”

“I like it,” Bellona said, taking my arm as a fellow Knight. “Let us come with you.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I do this alone. I can’t risk any more of you. And no one would buy it — that Cyrus could fight and capture more than one of us. If the Maker sees to it, we’ll find some way back out of that palace.” I nodded toward Cyrus. “With his help.”

The young lord visibly paled again, and he looked up to the top of the tent, hands on his face for a moment, then back to Justina and Kapriel. Finally to me. He nodded once. “I’m with you. To the end.”

“To the end, I am with you too, brother,” I said, taking his arm in mine and cementing our pledge. Hope entered my heart for the first time since I’d watched the ship holding Andriana steam away around the river’s bend.

I’m coming, Dri. Hold on. Just hold on.

CHAPTER
28

ANDRIANA

I
awakened to sunlight streaming through the window and the maids arriving. I heard the sound of water running and knew that they would dip me in and see to my hair and dress me in short order.
A doll in her new clothing
, I thought grimly.
Another day, another fight to lose.

But as I stared at the sunlight, which seemed so wrong in a place that I felt was so covered by darkness, I reached out to the Maker.
I’m so weary. I’ve disappointed you. Failed you. You chose me wrongly. There must have been another who would have done better.

But the light became stronger, a stream alive with dust motes dancing, the long curtain beside the window fluttering slightly in the breeze. It was the window that Sethos had stood by last night. And yet now . . . the light. I took a long, deep breath.
You cannot give in to what you feel, Andriana. You have to remember what you know to be true.

Truth.

A maid asked me a question but I ignored her. My hand slipped to my hip and traced the place where I knew my birthmark to be. The crescent moon. A sign of something bigger to come. Of hope. Of light. Of fight.

I threw back my covers and sat up quickly. I would bathe and dress. And while they saw to me, I would concentrate on what I knew to be true. That I was born for a purpose. That I hadn’t betrayed those I loved. I’d fought my adversary at every corner. Sure, I’d lost battles here and there. But this was a war. A war!