Remnants: Season of Fire (5 page)

But then I looked down and gasped. Not only had my hair been loosed from its knot and set into waves around my shoulders, but it had been washed. How had I slept through that? And I’d been changed into one of the white, ethereal gowns of Pacifica. I could see the gleaming cuff on my arm through the gossamer material, but at least the thin sheath that covered my body provided a measure of modesty. A slim measure. I jumped out of bed and pulled at the material in anger, as if it had betrayed me more than Keallach.

After a brief knock, the door opened and I whirled.

Keallach leaned against the doorjamb with a grin, appraising me from head to toe. Had he said he thought me beautiful last night? Or had I dreamed it? I was taken back to that morning in the Wadi Qelt sanctuary, when I’d realized he’d left the purple flower I’d set in my hair, not Ronan. Keallach had looked so pleased, seeing it behind my ear . . .

He looked twice as drawn to me now, and I knew his desire then, in full. There were no walls today, only full access.

“Keallach!” I said, seizing on anger, trying to fish my thoughts out of the swirl of his emotion. “Did you . . . Did you do this to me?” I said, gesturing down at my gown.

“Well, there’s no need to say it like I molested you,” he said with a scoff. “I didn’t tend to you. Not that I would’ve minded,” he said, cocking one brow, his grin returning.

“I — I —”

He held up a hand. “Andriana. I had a maidservant wash you and change you. You were sleeping in my bed, after all. Who knew what vermin you’d brought in after your weeks on the road?”

My mouth dropped open, half in surprise, half in embarrassment. His revulsion at the thought of my uncleanliness
nearly usurped his physical draw toward me. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you reading me, Andriana? What I’m feeling? Thinking?”

I abruptly shut my mouth and grimaced as I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks. “I cannot read your thoughts, only your emotions.”

“But you can take an educated guess on thoughts, based on feelings.”

I didn’t acknowledge his question. I’d already said too much.

He lifted a hand. “You apparently have never had Pacifican evening wine.”

“I’ve had very little wine at all,” I said.

“Evening wine has a mild sedative in it to help us sleep,” he said, and I felt the contrition within him. “Forgive me. I should’ve known to warn you.”

“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin, agitated, furious, somehow doubting it had been an accident. My stomach clenched and twisted. “You should have.” I strode to the door to pass him, but he blocked it with one strong arm.

I hesitated, but stared at the worn planks of the deck, rather at him. “I’d like to go outside. I think I’m going to be sick.”

The arm immediately dropped and I rushed through the sitting room, out the cabin door, and to the railing of the ship. Immediately, all the contents of my stomach joined the swirling, frothy waters beneath us. I coughed, spit, and straightened, then vomited again. My stomach heaving but empty, I gasped and closed my eyes, slowly straightening. Still, I gripped the rail, feeling empty, a tad faint, but far better than moments before.

Keallach stood beside me, silent for a time. He was so close
that I could feel the hair of his arm tickling my skin. “That’s more likely due to the sea rather than the evening wine. Keep your eye on the horizon. It’ll help.”

“How can you stomach the stuff?” I said, squinting outward, blinking against the sheen of the sun on the water’s surface.

“The evening wine? We’ve been given sips of it since we were learning to walk. You’ll become accustomed to it too.”

I frowned and yet said nothing. Why did he assume that I would be in Pacifica long enough to become accustomed to anything?

He looked over at me, and I felt his grin, even though I didn’t meet his gaze. “The maidservant found this in the sleeve of your sweater,” he said, lifting the half-eaten piece of bread and offering it to me. “Are you in the habit of stashing away food?”

“I’m in the habit of avoiding starvation,” I sniffed. I wiped at my nose with the back of my hand, and a handkerchief appeared in my line of vision. Did he have to be so . . . attentive? But I took the cloth and angrily swiped at my nose.

“Did you fear we wouldn’t feed Ronan?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I lied. The last thing I needed was him getting the truth out of me — that I hoped to give a little to every Ailith aboard this ship. Five more than just Ronan.

At least I hoped they were aboard. It felt like they were here. My arm cuff was curiously warm — was that their presence? Or Keallach’s? “Where is Ronan?” I asked.

“He’s belowdecks, as I said he’d be,” he said, his tone overly light. I tried to read him again, but the walls were back. I couldn’t get anything. How did he do that? And did I dare touch him to see if that would penetrate the wall?

I turned to run my eyes down the length of the
Far North
, over one sailor and then another in gray. Soldiers. Sheolite. But all carefully kept their gazes out of Keallach’s business here with me, and none were familiar. The Ailith were near. They had to be. I sensed them; I just couldn’t see them.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Keallach asked, gesturing outward to the waves again. “As a daughter of the Valley, I assume you’ve never been at sea. We left port only a few hours ago, and now this — it’s as if we’re alone on a watery planet. It’s as mesmerizing as the stars in the desert, is it not?”

Though I didn’t say it aloud, I had to admit that it was an exhilarating, otherworldly experience. To see nothing but green-blue waves, rolling and cresting with tiny whitecaps, for as far as my eyes could see. The ocean did appear as its own world. The air was cold and crisp, even with the sun warm on our skin, and I shivered and rubbed my arms.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit,” I said. “If I had my own clothes —”

“They’ll be given back to you. The maids are laundering them. Not that I’m anxious to see you change out of that lovely gown. Here,” he said, fiddling with the button of his light, taupe-colored cape.

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” I said, lifting a hand. But he was already wrapping it around my shoulders, and I had to admit the warmth was welcome.

He had on a billowing white shirt beneath, tied at the base of his throat, and tucked into brown leather breeches. He looked every part the dashing prince — like someone out of a storybook.

“Look, there!” he said, leaning close, so close I could feel
the heat of his skin. He pointed below us, down near where the edge of the ship was slicing through the waves.

“What? What are those?” I asked. I could see the flip of a tail, the curve of a body. Then another, and another.

“A pod of dolphins,” he said, pleasure lacing his tone.

One of the creatures crested then, racing with the ship, and jumped out of the water in an arc, then dived back in. Right behind him, two others did the same. Surprised, I laughed, and then laughed again when they repeated the exercise.

I felt Keallach’s surge of admiration toward me and edged away, facing him. I shook my head a little in warning.

He laughed under his breath, peered out to the ocean’s horizon for a moment, then back to me. “This reading my emotions is a bit . . . disruptive,” he mused. “It’ll take me a while to get used to that. But women always complain that men won’t express their feelings, right? I take it that’s not an issue for you. You know everything I feel.”

I clamped my lips shut, absorbing his words. We wouldn’t be keeping company for long. The agreement had only been for time together to and from the island. And with any luck, we’d be on separate ships when we left Catal.

“What is your gifting?” I asked. “And how is it that you can block me from reading your feelings at times?”

He studied me, weighing whether he trusted me or not. He took a deep breath, as if fearing I might laugh at him when I heard. “I occasionally have curious powers. To do things — move objects and the like, with my mind.”

I thought about this, my mouth dry, no trace of humor teasing my lips. “And your brother?” I managed to ask.

“The power to command nature. Summon rain and such.” His eyes perused me and drifted down to my arm. The cape
had blown back over one shoulder, leaving my cuff exposed. “But we have not received the full gifting our trainer spoke of.” He glanced over at me and turned. “Max told me that several of you wore these armbands in Castle Vega,” he said, reaching up to lightly touch mine with two fingers. I stood stock-still and his eyes shifted back and forth, as if he could read me. “I assume it has something to do with that?”

“It is a trinket,” I said idly, staring out to sea as my stomach grew unsettled again. “Something the Ailith wear as a sign of our solidarity.” I tried to casually put some space between us and pulled the cape back over my shoulder. Would he have felt the heat with it that told me my friends were here nearby? Or did he know that anyway — recognizing fellow Ailith as we always could? Maybe he’d lost the ability in his separation.

He laughed under his breath and leaned his arms against the rail. “Where are the other cuffs, then? For the Remnants you’ve yet to meet?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned. “You don’t know?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, thinking of Raniero, and the small bag at his waist that had held them. He had given them to Ronan, but where they were now, I didn’t know.

“Was there —” he paused, taking a moment to choose his words, “some sort of ceremony that unlocked your gift, Andriana? That fused the cuff to your skin?” He leaned a few inches back, to examine my entire face. “You are far more mature in your gifting than I. And there is word from Zanzibar that your healer conquered even the Cancer. Is that true? Sethos . . . he says that the boy named Vidar knew he was present before he was visible. Something has . . . changed for you all. Tell me what that was.”

I knew I had to tread carefully. To tell him too much was to give him a weapon against us. And yet if I told him too little, he’d guess I was lying or holding back. And there was such longing within him . . . that hunger that would only be assuaged by a reunion with the Maker. An answer to his own Call.

To join us. Was there a chance? Had the Maker made this conversation possible so that I might draw him back in? I felt the pull of him, the magnetic draw I felt with every one of my Ailith kin. Did he feel it too?

“It is the Maker who unlocks our gifting, Keallach,” I said, rejoining him at the rail. I closed my eyes, and dared to slide my hand next to his, letting our hands touch. “That and being in community. You are so far from us. You’ve set yourself apart from your kin . . . both of the blood and of spirit.” I let my hand cover his briefly, lightly, and in that small touch, I felt the grief within him, the separation.

A lump formed in my throat as I took on his burden as my own. I glanced up to find him staring at me. It was a pure moment of knowing and being known, as only I could do with other Ailith. I swallowed hard, feeling our bond. I held onto it and then cast it toward him, wanting him to feel the full force of it too.

He abruptly pulled his hand from mine and stepped away, holding it as if I’d burned him. “How . . . How did you do that?”

“What?” I asked, pretending ignorance.

“You know,” he said. “You just won’t tell me.” The soft lines of the ache, the longing I could see on his face turned into the hard lines of resentment. The wall slid neatly upward, dividing us again. And our separation made me feel nauseated, as I might with any other of my Ailith brothers or sisters. It was
so clearly wrong — wrong that he wasn’t with us. That we’d been divided.

He continued to stare at me, and my sorrow seemed to anger him most.

“Do not pity me, Andriana,” he bit out, leaning toward me. Any trace of grief and loneliness quickly morphed into agitation. “I made my choices with a clear mind and heart,” he whispered harshly again in my ear, his breath hot. “Do you understand me?”

I nodded once. Other than that, I stayed utterly still.

Then he turned and left the small deck, charging down the ladder to the bigger deck below.

My mind swirled as I thought about Keallach and all he’d said. How close he was, and yet how distant.

I watched the white bubbles beneath me eddy in wide, dissipating circles as the boat continued to slice through the water toward the island prison.

And then I vomited again.

CHAPTER
4

ANDRIANA

W
e reached the Isle of Catal a little while later. I exited Keallach’s cabin, leaving his cape behind, when I heard the shouts and felt the steam engine slow. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, a great wall of billowing gray. More troubling was the view of the prison itself: aging white stone in straight walls extending from island cliffs, washed by waves, allowing little purchase for climbers, few ledges for ladders.
At least from this side . . .

Sailors came together at the rail to watch the approach of the island, and behind them great puffs of steam emerged from a smokestack — the apparent power for our speed. All along the way, the ivory sails had remained furled and tied to their beams, seemingly only a backup in case the steam failed. I felt a chill on my cuff and saw Keallach speaking to Sethos on the broad deck below with his arms crossed. At one point,
both looked up at me. I willed myself not to look away until they did, and then searched the others. There was still no sign of my companions.

I moved to climb down from the upper deck via the small ladder-like stairwell, but a sailor stepped in my way and lifted one hand. “You are to remain here, miss,” he said.

My heart thudding, I noticed the other man on the far side of the deck, plainly another guard. “So I am a prisoner?”

The first man gave me a small shrug. “Hardly a cell,” he said, waving back toward the cabin with a grin. “Could be worse. Just sit tight. We’ll dock shortly.”

I lifted my chin. “I’d like to see Ronan, my companion.”

He glanced at the other guard and smiled, crossing his arms. “As I’m certain he’d like to see you.” He let his dark eyes drift down to my toes and back, slowly, and I blushed, recognizing that the wind made the thin fabric cling to every line and curve of my body. Anger quickly rushed through me and I was moving before I thought about it, punching him in the gut, kneeing him in the nose when he bent over, then driving him back against the wall of the captain’s cabin, pinning him against it, leaning as hard as I could with both hands encircling his neck. His nose dripped blood.