Remnants: Season of Fire (35 page)

I said the next in a slow, low, defiant manner. “I belong to the Maker alone.”

This time, when he moved to slap me, I caught his hand with my own and turned it cruelly, hearing bones crunch and watching his mouth drop open. And I recognized something — I didn’t feel his emotions as I did others. It was as if he was a Sheolite. Or perhaps Sethos had blocked me from reading emotions here too, and his plan had backfired. Hope surged in me anew. If I weren’t crippled by their emotions, maybe it would truly be possible to take them down one by one and be free of this place.

Maximillian backed away from me, hatred plain across his face, all trace of gentility gone. “You will learn what it means to be
owned
, Andriana of the Valley, beginning this day. It is only because you are so highly useful that you are still alive at this moment.”

“You will never own me. I’ll die before you do.”

Maximillian pushed away a servant who’d moved forward to assist him and resumed his seat at the center of the Six. But I drew pleasure from the way he held his injured hand against
his chest. “You may be surprised by the choices to come,” He turned to the doorway and said, “Bring them.”

I froze. Who? Were the other two Remnants alive, despite what Cyrus has said? I looked to him, but he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and wouldn’t meet my gaze. I didn’t need my empathic powers to know he was feeling guilty. I could tolerate their worst against me, but to watch a fellow Remnant abused . . .

But the Pacificans brought in my father.

Bedraggled, filthy, terribly skinny, but my beloved father.

Alive. Alive! Alive! He’s alive!
They’d only made me think they’d killed them.

They let me rise and stagger toward him. He embraced me, kissing my cheeks. He smelled foul, sickly, but I didn’t care. It was Dad,
my
Dad. My precious Dad. “Where’s Mom?”

When his eyes met mine, I sucked in my breath, understanding now. They had them both. They would try and use them both against me. Strong hands gripped my arms and dragged me backward, even as two others dragged him to another position in the cavernous room. But his eyes, his loving eyes, remained on me. Tears streamed down his face, cutting glistening, clearer tracks through the filth that coated his skin. “Remember, Andriana,” he said, his voice strange and thin. Hoarse. “Remember who you are,” he said, swallowing hard. “Remember whose you are.”

Lord Jala lifted a hand.

A third soldier turned and struck my father savagely in the belly. Dad’s knees buckled and he gasped for breath, turning gray and then flushing red, eyes bulging.

“There shall be no more words from you unless we ask you a direct question,” Lord Jala said.

I heard his words as blows themselves. I wanted Dad to
keep talking — his voice awakening all kinds of memories that comforted and strengthened me.

Maximillian came down from his throne and patiently waited for Dad to regain himself, and then turned to me, his genteel façade back in place. “Now, there is no need to continue this, Andriana. Just one word will stop further harm from coming to your father. And that word is a simple
yes
. Yes, yes,” he said, a grin spreading over his face, lifting his hands in the air and then patting his chest, playing up the drama for his chortling companions. “It feels good to say it.”

“Yes, to what?” I sputtered.

Maximillian paced then, chin in hand. “
Yes
, you will wed the emperor.
Yes
, you will serve the empire.
Yes
, you will serve our cause for unification.
Yes
, you will speak to your fellow Ailith.
Yes
, you will do everything that is asked of you to end this brewing battle and help see us to peace. To peace, Andriana,” he said, his voice rising. “How can you say no to that?”

“Kapriel will see us to peace. When he comes to power, he will reign over all. And you and yours will be dust.”

“Those are treasonous words,” he said, lowering his gaze.

“Are they?” I cried. “Or am I simply stating how we make all that went wrong,
right
?” For the first time, I wondered why Keallach wasn’t here. Why he’d left without telling me. Because he’d been sent away by these men he called friends? Or because he wanted to claim innocence? “Where is Keallach? What would he say about this?”

“The emperor is away and agrees with how his Council presides over Pacifica’s business in his absence,” Maximillian said, perching on the edge of his chair. “He’ll understand what we had to do, here.”

“Beating my father? Threatening me? That does not square with what I know Keallach would
understand.
”

“You confuse the emperor’s fondness for you with his resolve. We cannot abide by a growing threat in the Trading Union. Neither can our emperor.”

His words
growing threat
made me want to smile. These actions were born out of fear. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. “I’ll die before I betray the Remnants and the Maker’s cause.”

As I uttered the forbidden name, Maximillian rose, as did the rest of the Six.

“We are well aware of how tightly the Remnants hold to their cause, Andriana,” Maximillian said stiffly. “Be advised that we had two previous encounters with your ilk and had ample time to test . . . parameters. This assisted us greatly in preparing for this moment with you.”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. I seethed with fury, itching for a sword, for the chance to take down this monster who gloated over torturing my brother and sister, sacred souls meant for so much more.

“What we don’t know is this,” Lord Jala said. “You Remnants will die for your cause. But are you willing to watch your father die if you refuse us?”

He gestured to the knights holding Dad. One forced him to his knees and brought a knife up under his throat.

I tried to rise, straining with everything in me, but the Sheolites on either side of me shoved me back and held me down. My arm cuff was growing colder by the second. There was no need for Sethos to be in attendance. His minions had full sway. I panted, desperate for breath, but suddenly felt like there was precious little oxygen in the room.
They wouldn’t . . . They won’t . . .

Maximillian walked over to Dad and then slowly turned his head in my direction. “Tell me, Andriana. How do you think it would affect an empath to watch her loved ones die?”

I thought I might vomit.

“Do not waver, Dri,” Dad said. “Do not let them hold my life — or my death — over your head like a noose. I die willingly for the Maker!”

Lord Jala grimaced and lifted a hand toward the guard holding the knife.

“No! Wait!” I screamed.

But even as I did so, Dad writhed, bodily turning the guard around after him. The guard pulled back his knife and Dad made a terrible, choking, gurgling sound and fell forward.

“Dad!” I screamed, weeping.

Blood pooled around his neck and spread. The guard backed away shaking, as if horrified at what he’d done, and dropped the knife. He moved toward the door where the other guard tried to stop him, but he shook him off.

“He’s weak,” Maximillian spat in disgust. “See that he’s dishonorably discharged and never enters the palace gates again.” He gestured for the other guard to follow him, leaving Dad’s lifeless body alone — its solitary placement somehow making it all the more horrifying.

“No!” I cried. “No!” I tried to rise again, free myself from the guards, but they held me fast. It was no use. I was weeping, aching over the sight of Dad, lost to me once and now lost again . . . one with the Maker at all times, in all places, and now in the Maker’s presence.

But far, so far, from me. Tears ran down my face as I shuddered with the searing pain of it.
Dad. Dad . . .

The Six took their seats and remained silent as the only
sound in the room for a long while was me crying, and the only movement was a broadening pool of blood.

“Acquiesce, Andriana,” Maximillian said soothingly, like a rescuer to a small child. “You clearly cannot bear to watch another of your loved ones executed like this.” He gestured toward Dad’s limp body and rose, slowly walking down the stairs to me again. He circled me casually, chin in hand. I noticed he left his injured wrist at his side. “Feeling grief, when you feel every emotion tenfold, it’s the perfect torture for you, isn’t it?”

“I will not give in to you. I will not betray my friends just so you can execute them as well! I will not be unfaithful to the Maker — the One my father just died for!”

“Don’t betray them, Andriana! Help them live! This course they’re on . . . your precious
Way
. It will only mean death for them, in time. One by one, we shall track them down, and they will all die.” Lord Jala leaned closer. “And I will see to it that you watch each one pass.” He straightened and lifted his good hand. “Or you can do as we have envisioned and be the bridge between the Six and the Ailith.”

We stared at each other, and I hated him then. Never had I felt rage race through every inch of me as it did at that moment.

“Bring her,” he said, never releasing my gaze.

I was the first to break our stare, seeing the figure in the doorway to the left.

“No,” I moaned, tears welling in my eyes. “Maker, no, no . . .”

I couldn’t do it. It was impossible.

But they dragged Mom into the room.

CHAPTER
29

RONAN

I
heard Dri’s agonized weeping and sank to my knees, wanting my guards to think I was frightened, beaten, mourning. It wasn’t hard to summon the tears in my eyes, hearing my beloved keen in pain. How I hated it that she thought —

Voices rose in the next room again. Andriana, mostly. Then the low, sly voice of Lord Jala. Cajoling. Deriding. Persuading. Threatening.

Breathing quickly, I considered my options. I had to get loose. With the other guards gone with Dri’s mom, it was only me and the two Sheolites alone in the room. There’d been at least four other Pacifican soldiers in the hallway at the ready, but no other Sheolites. Likely there were others with the Six.

I eased my stance, aware that my guards were listening as intently as I was, probably wishing they had a view of the
horror. These creatures fed on darkness, despair, terror. And I was eager to introduce them to an eternity of it.

This was my chance, the one I’d prayed for. The one Dri’s parents and I had prepared for deep in the recesses of the dungeon. Keallach and Sethos were away. If we were going to break out of the palace, there’d never be a better opportunity than this. Mentally, I moved through one motion and then the other, practicing it all in my mind, visualizing possible reactions, changes of circumstance.

Andriana shouted and Lord Jala laughed and I was on the move, ramming the man to my left, sending him sprawling, then whirling and turning and lifting the chain that bound my hands around the throat of the next. I gripped the gathered loop in one hand and as he writhed and struggled, pulled him around me just in time to take the brunt force of his comrade’s sword, which came through him and nearly into me.

I tossed the injured man aside, and the second man’s sword went with him. But as he fell, I pulled the first’s sword from its sheath. I swung wildly at the second Sheolite, but he easily ducked it and ran into me with a growl, clearly hoping to tackle me to the ground. But I simply gave into it and lifted him up and over me, the momentum sending him sprawling. As the Maker would have it, we were close to the wall, and he came to an abrupt stop, his head and neck at an awful angle. He was still.

Panting, I eyed the doorway, amazed that the commotion hadn’t drawn other guards, which likely meant that the drama that was going on in the Council room was far more engaging. Convinced I had a few precious seconds alone, I moved to the first man, still alive, but barely, and roughly
turned him over. He’d tucked the key to my chains in his belt, or some pocket on his tunic.
Hurry, hurry
. . .

There
. I found the metal bulge beneath the fabric and drew it out with shaking hands, desperate to be free and making my way to Andriana. I heard her cry out again as the lock finally gave way and the chains slipped toward the ground; I caught them just before they hit the marble and then stared toward the empty door. They’d still made a racket. But again, no one came. I pulled two daggers from the first man’s belt and slammed them into my own, then a sword from the limp body. If I took those in the next room by surprise, perhaps Andriana or her parents could take up arms beside me. Even if they did, we were still terribly outnumbered. And we had only two swords and two daggers. Unless . . .

“Please, Maker,” I whispered between gritted teeth, easing up to the hallway door and peering around its edge. There were four guards in the hall, and they were all carefully watching around the doorjamb of the Council chambers. But I smiled as one looked over his shoulder and lifted a brow toward me. It was the man who had “killed” Dri’s father. And his partner was the man who had been sent by Lord Jala to make certain the guard never returned.

Allies. Two most loyal to Lord Cyrus.

Seeing me emerge, the one — covered in the pig’s blood he’d carried in a sack — elbowed his partner, and together they silently took down the two guards in front of them, dragging their lifeless bodies past me and into the other room where I’d been.

I moved across the floor, trying to be as silent as our trainer had taught us to be, glancing down the hallway behind us, which remained blessedly empty. I knew other guards would
be on the run as soon as the Six cried for help, but apparently the lords felt adequately protected. Usually, they would be against prisoners weakened by days without food or water, in chains.

The two other men emerged again and hovered behind me. Hope surged. It was happening. Just as Lord Cyrus and I had planned. But Dri’s terror made my heart race.

Andriana cried out, “I cannot! It is against everything in me to swear allegiance to anyone but the Maker!”

“Cut her mother,” said Lord Jala. “but not deep enough to kill her yet.”