Remnants: Season of Fire (7 page)

It made my decision to move forward an act of will. Half of me was drawn to my brother, crumbling, and half of me was repelled, overcome by the desire to run away. Far away. It was as if the memory of Keallach’s feelings had left an imprint, a place to live within me, even now that I was disconnected. And all I hungered for was my prince. A strong, stalwart prince.

Regardless of what you feel
, Niero had once fiercely told me,
remember what you know
. I began to repeat silently what I knew for certain.

I am a Remnant.

I was born to serve with my brothers and sisters.

To save the world, one at a time.

And we are called to save Kapriel now.

The Ailith were on the ship, somewhere, along with Ronan. And if they couldn’t make it to me, I had to find some way to free myself and Kapriel and make it back to them. Maybe we could fight off the soldiers and force the sailors to take us to safety? But with the chains . . .

Kapriel’s weeping waned, and yet his grief was still visceral. I went back to repeating the things I knew to be true
in my mind so that I would not be lost amidst the tsunami of his sorrow. I rounded the corner and saw him then, face turned toward the tiny window. “Why?” he muttered, his voice ragged. “Why, Maker? Will you not do something? Even now? How is
this
your way?”

I was rendered mute by his similarity to Keallach. But he was so much thinner, so bedraggled and weary, it was like seeing a skewed reflection of his brother. It struck me then that Keallach carried his own ragged weariness too, but it was carefully hidden away deep inside him, rather than on his flesh.

I clenched the rusting bars in both hands, and the chain between my wrists clanged against them. I froze, as did Kapriel, and his blue-green eyes turned to me. Relief washed through him as he recognized me as a fellow Remnant, and he turned toward me on weak, shaking legs. He reached out a hand toward me, and there was such anguish, such joy, such immediate
love
in the gesture, that tears welled in my own eyes, then crested and ran down my cheeks. My arm cuff warmed, as if in pleasure.

“You have come, my sister,” he said, and took another step.

“Such as I am,” I returned, lifting my chains. “Hardly the rescuer you imagined, I’d wager.”

He covered the few remaining steps between us and covered my hands with his own, as if we were old friends — kin, rather than strangers. And it was exactly right. It was as if I’d known this man my whole life, just as I’d known the other.

“It matters not,” he said. “The Maker specializes in unlikely heroes.”

“And impossible odds?”

“Especially those,” he said, smiling. He was close enough for me to see the tracks of his tears through the dirt on his thin
face. The smudges where he’d wiped them away. How long since he’d had a bath?

“I am Andriana,” I said.

“And I am Kapriel.”

I glanced back to the empty stone hallway, amazed that Keallach was giving us this time alone. Perhaps he was still too grief-stricken to move. But undoubtedly he was making plans. Pulling himself together again. When I turned back, Kapriel had moved to a stone in the floor and was removing it. Beneath it, he pulled out a shard of iron and quickly returned to the bars between us.

“Give me your hands, quickly.” He set upon the lock at my wrist, his fingernails caked with dirt. “This was too small to jimmy the lock of my cell, but it might be just right for —”

A
click
stopped him and he grinned. The manacle popped open, and I carefully eased it from my arm, trying not to jostle the chain too much and alert those outside with the noise.

“Keep talking as if nothing is going on,” he whispered, kneeling to reach through the bars to my ankles.

“He cannot keep you here forever,” I said, more loudly than before. “Surely there is some way for you two to come to an agreement.”

“He’ll hear none of it,” Kapriel muttered, and it sounded like he spoke as much from the heart as for the stage. “It’s either his way or nothing. It’s always been so.”

“He needs you, though,” I said urgently, almost forgetting that others might be listening. “You two were born together for a reason. Together, you would bring balance to the throne. You could rule Pacifica, and even beyond, in a manner that would please the Maker.”

“I’m rather certain” — a second
click
freed my ankle — “that is the farthest thing from my brother’s mind.”

He rose and I stepped out of my chains, relief flooding through me.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said.

Sounds of a scuffle outside brought my head up. A man cried out, another swore. I reached for my cuff and felt the alternating waves of both cold and heat.

The Ailith had come.

But our enemies had too.

I looked around madly for another loose rock, anything to arm myself with, but there was nothing. Grimly, I leaned down to gather the skirt of my long Pacifican gown and sheath and tore them to the knee, freeing my legs.

Three soldiers backed into the prison hallway, as if to defend their precious prisoner. The closest one caught sight of me and his eyes widened. I whirled and caught him in the throat with a roundhouse kick, just as he brought his sword up. He fell back against the one behind him, choking, and I turned to the third man, ignoring the warm trickle of blood running down my leg where the man had nicked me. It was only because he hadn’t time to fully raise his sword that I hadn’t suffered a mortal wound.

But this one before me now was fully ready.

We circled each other, and it ate at me, the precious seconds that were evaporating, allowing the other two to rise and gather themselves. I caught a glimpse of another soldier falling into the far end of the passageway, but he was immediately on his feet and back out again. My fellow Ailith clearly were bringing the fight to them outside. Could I hold these three off in the meantime?

The soldier before me flicked his sword back and forth in a teasing pattern. “Come now, girl. You can’t hope to make it out alive. Give yourself up. The emperor will be dismayed if he finds we had to kill you.”

“And what will he do when he finds you three dead?” I snapped back. “Will he give you a second thought?”

“Not likely,” he said, waving his sword, “but what choice do I have? Die here in the fight, or die later for losing. My only hope is to fight and win, if I want to live.”

I frowned. Keallach would kill his men for losing? I’d never heard of such a vicious thing. And it didn’t square with what I’d learned of him.

The man swung his sword at me and I leaned back. It just barely missed my belly. “You said you’re intent on taking me alive, right?”

He smiled and continued to circle me. “Alive, but with a memory of why you shouldn’t fight a Pacifican soldier.”

Kapriel caught my eye and gestured toward him. He wanted me to maneuver the man closer to the bars.

I scurried to the left as the second soldier grabbed at me from the right, then bent low as the first swung his sword again. The tip swished through my hair. I needed a sword of my own or I’d be sliced and diced before this was over. I eyed the man still on the ground, gasping for breath. It was possible I’d crushed his windpipe. I had to physically push away the feelings of his panic, and kicked at my attacker. I connected with his stomach, then punched him. But as I reached for his sword, now held in a slack hand, the second man was up on his feet again and wrapped huge arms around me, lifting me from my feet.

“There you go, woman. It’s over now,” he said. “Come along
quietly and I’ll see that no more harm comes to you.” His words were sweet but his tone was smarmy, sticky in my ear. I had no doubt what would happen to me if he had me alone in a room, or worse, a cell. I pretended to relax, as if I was giving up, but as his tension eased, I rammed my head back into his nose.

He immediately released me, groaning and backing up to the bars, his hand on his bleeding, broken nose, his mouth open in horror and anger.

Kapriel reached through the bars, grabbed hold of his head, and took a curious hold where neck met shoulder. After a few seconds, the big man went down heavily, clearly unconscious.

The second man drove toward the bars, enraged, sword extended. At the last possible second, Kapriel edged aside, took hold of the man’s arm, and swiftly pressed forward with all of his weight. The man screamed, and the sickening sound of bone breaking echoed against the stone walls. His sword skittered to the ground. The soldier went to his knees, his arm at such a terrible angle that he couldn’t extract it, essentially trapping him. He shrieked.

Kapriel took the sword, tossed it to me, then reached through to take hold of the second man at the curve of his shoulder, sending him into merciful unconscious. His pitiful gasps and cries came to a stop and I dared to take a breath.

“You’re going to have to teach me how you do that,” I panted.

“Gladly,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been trying to reach them for some time. Turns out . . .” Kapriel’s words trailed off as he reached through to fumble along the belt of the man with the broken arm, and I smiled, seeing what he was after. He had been Kapriel’s jailor. And now Kapriel held up his keys. “I just needed you to distract them long enough to accomplish it.”

The first man I’d hit in the throat was crawling toward the doorway.

As I stared in his direction, I recognized his terror. I hurried over to him, gripped his feet and dragged him back across the stone floor and into an empty cell. He was too weak from lack of breath to put up any fight, but he was heavy. Once the door clanged shut and I latched the lock, I looked in on him, panting. “May the Maker preserve you, if you have a heart worth salvaging.”

“Every soul is worth salvaging,” Kapriel said quietly beside me.

I turned and smiled at him. “You’re free!”

“With your help,” he said. He frowned and looked down at the growing red stain on my ivory gown. “How bad is your wound?”

“Not too bad,” I said, ignoring the stinging pain. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are still outside.” The sounds of ongoing battle met us as we peered around the corner of the doorway from either side. We both had swords now, but Kapriel looked even worse in the light of day, and gray and sweaty from his efforts inside. He was a great deal lighter than his brother, all sinew and light muscle where his brother was brawn.

I saw Keallach then and took a step farther out.

He was battling Ronan. My knight. Our brothers and sisters had obviously freed him. One of Ronan’s eyes was swollen shut, and a deep purpling bruise colored his cheek, but he appeared anything but weak. I frowned as he drove Keallach backward with one fierce strike after another, all pent-up fury funneling toward its target.

My eyes narrowed at his single-minded focus. His rage was fierce enough to make him want to kill Keallach.

“Ronan!” I cried. “Don’t!” Keallach had done something . . . reprehensible. But he was one of us. Reachable. Redeemable. He wouldn’t hurt any of the Ailith, not lethally anyway. He couldn’t. He was one of us. “Ronan, stop!”

Ronan cast a mad glance at me, eyebrows furrowed — did a double take, seeing me in the bloody Pacifican gown — and in that second, Keallach turned and pierced him, his strike as fluid and natural as if he’d practiced it a hundred times before.

I screamed, my voice sounding distant and hollow to my own ears.

Ronan sank to his knees and Kapriel shoved past me, moving toward his brother as Keallach pulled the sword free from Ronan’s shoulder, using his foot to pry it loose in time to meet his brother’s charge. He brought it up and around just in time, and the two battled back and forth. But I knew Kapriel wouldn’t last long, in his weakened state. Even now he faltered.

Ronan was still on his knees, trying to rise again and falling. I hurried to him and came under his opposite arm. “Hold on, Ronan. Come. Just over here, against the short wall, behind you,” I directed. Clumsily, we got up and over to where I wanted. At least here no one could get behind us. I could defend Ronan.

All the Ailith were in the courtyard and stairwell around us, fighting two gray-clad soldiers for every one of them, steadily driving them away from us. Tressa knelt on the other side of Ronan, praying, but largely distracted. One by one the others killed or wounded their adversaries, leaving only the twins, Kapriel and Keallach.

Wordlessly, Tressa helped me get Ronan’s leather breastplate unstrapped and cut away the shoulder of his shirt to look at the wound. “Press here,” she said, placing a thick cloth in my hand and pushing it across the nasty gash.

I did as she asked, but had to swallow back a wave of nausea when I felt Ronan’s pain. My own nick was long forgotten in the face of his terrible wound. He was pale, and the cords in his neck stuck out as Tressa examined his back, where the sword had exited. She pressed another cloth on the other side and leaned toward his face. “Ronan, how is your breathing? Did he get your lung?”

Ronan breathed in and out slowly, once, twice, then shook his head.

“Good, good,” she said soothingly. “You’ll heal up nicely, then.”

Logically, I knew she was right, that with some stitches and rest, he’d likely be fine, in time. But seeing him there, bleeding, hurting — and clearly having suffered terrible abuse belowdecks — made me want to hurt someone else. I grabbed hold of the sword again and turned toward Keallach, striding toward him, even as he continued to battle his brother.

He had to have known they were hurting Ronan. Sethos couldn’t have acted without the emperor’s approval, could he?

The storm was on us, blowing my hair this way and that, and I felt a few droplets of rain. But I could see little other than the man who had so convinced me that he was one of us that I endangered my knight by coming to his defense. Had it all been an act? It was one thing to fool me with words; how could he have fooled me with his feelings?

Red-hot fury seemed to fill me, then began to cool, like freshly forged iron thrust into a river. Keallach nicked Kapriel with his sword and I broke into a charge, determined that Kapriel not be further injured.