Remnants: Season of Fire (8 page)

It was then that Sethos jumped from the rooftop above us, landing in a crouch, directly in my path.

Two other Sheolites landed beside their master, and it was only because I knew the rest of the Ailith were turning toward me that in that moment I didn’t turn tail and run.
But together, we are strong.
I repeated it over and over in my mind.

Sethos rose, his crimson robes plastering against his side in the fierce wind. My heart pounded in fear as his wrath seeped toward me, surrounding me, tangling with my own fury. Choking me . . . once again, opening something dark and insidious within . . .

Behind him, Keallach whirled and struck his brother. Kapriel fell, clutching his upper arm and I saw his sword clatter to the cobblestones.

“No! Kapriel!” I cried.

Together, we attacked the Sheolites, and nearly overcame them, when I saw Keallach raise a hand toward us, palm out. He clutched his chest and dropped his head. A second later, it was if we all had hit a brick wall. As one, we crumpled or fell backward. My head slammed to the stones and my vision tunneled toward black for a moment, then cleared. Only Killian and Bellona managed to hold on to their swords and leap back to their feet, blocking the oncoming Sheolite scouts.

Sethos advanced on me, but Ronan labored to his feet and stepped in his path. “You shall not have her,” he bit out as I still struggled to rise.

“We shall see,” Sethos returned fiercely, whirling and striking in one fearsomely powerful move.

Ronan narrowly blocked his blow, the metal clanging and scraping as the swords separated. Again and again, Ronan parried, but just barely. I wearily lifted my sword, intent on going to his aid and driving Sethos back, when I saw Kapriel
drop, eyes wide and to the sky, lips moving in silent prayer. He lifted his arms, palms up, and Keallach turned on him, his face an angry sneer.

“Kapriel!” I screamed, my voice distant and slow to my own ears. Rain pelted us, so hard it felt as if each droplet was piercing, more like hail than rain. It came so hard and so fast that the stones at our feet became slippery, awash in water, blood trailing from bodies on the ground, red rivulets making their way toward the stairs in tiny, ghoulish waterfalls.

Keallach staggered against the sheets of rain, blinking repeatedly to try and see his adversary, but a great wind blew us all to the side, and he stumbled, lost his footing, then came down heavily on one hip.

I fell, rolled, and rolled again, shoved by the wind like a tumbleweed until I was lodged against the far wall. I watched the water in the courtyard before me clearly seeing the swirling motion. I looked up, blinking against the heavy rain. It was as if a small cyclone arose from it, and at its center were Sethos and the two scouts, with Keallach at their feet. They were glaring at his brother, then us.

They’re in the eye of the storm
, I thought, trying to make sense of it. But the small storm moved, herding them, in effect, closer and closer to the prison doorway. The rest of us regained our feet and followed behind, finding it difficult to believe what we were seeing. But when the small funnel turned into a massive blast that sent our enemies somersaulting inside, we charged after them.

Inside, the men seem dazed and out of breath. We quickly took hold of them and slammed them inside Kapriel’s old cell.

“See how
you
like being left in here,” I said to Keallach.

He rushed toward the bars, all trace of the deadly fury I’d
seen moments before now gone. “Andriana, you don’t understand. There’s still so much I need to explain.”

I backed away, trying to ignore the pain and loss within him that muddled the sheer loathing I’d felt toward him a moment ago. “We leave you to the Maker’s mercy,” I muttered. With that, I strode out.

“Andriana!” he cried. “Wait! Andriana!”

But I managed to ignore him. If he was to be redeemed, it would have to be later. Our immediate call was to get Kapriel to safety. Every one of us knew it.

Outside, we found the prince curled up on the wet stones, eyes closed. Ronan was beside him, on his knees. Above us, the sky was clearing, the clouds lifting before our eyes. Here and there, shafts of sunlight met the sea.

“Kapriel,” I said, kneeling beside them. I took his hand but it was cold and lifeless.

His eyes rolled as Tressa turned him to his back, his head in her lap. She leaned forward to put her ear to his mouth, and her mass of auburn curls hid them for a moment. “He breathes,” she said briskly, straightening, feeling for a pulse at his neck, and I think we all took a collective breath with him.

“Was it too much?” Vidar asked. “Him using his gifting to such a level, before he received the blessing?”

Shouts from inside the prison echoed out to us, but we ignored them.

Kapriel coughed, closed his eyes, then coughed again — so hard it turned to retching — then rolled back, gasping. When he opened his eyes, he looked about at each of our faces encircling him, then slowly grinned. “It’s all right. Help me rise,” he said, his voice raspy.

Vidar reached forward, took his hand, and helped him to
his feet. The two stared at each other for a long moment, then briefly embraced. “I’m Vidar,” he said, thumping Kapriel on the back.

I came up under Ronan’s arm, preparing to help him down the stairs, when Kapriel reached us. “She is special, this one,” he said to Ronan, wanly gripping his arm.

“I know,” Ronan said, a tiny smile edging his lips. His good eye shifted to me, then back to our new brother. “I am Ronan.” The others quickly introduced themselves.

“Come, my friends,” Kapriel said. “We must make haste. If we make our escape on Keallach’s ship before word reaches the mainland that there has been trouble here, we may be able to disappear.”

“I’m afraid the
Far North
isn’t in working order,” Bellona said with an impish smile that betrayed a dimple on her normally sober face. She and Vidar shared a sly look that told me they’d laid waste to the ship’s engines. “We’ll need alternate transportation.”

“And I think we have it,” Chaza’el said, looking over the wall. Ronan and I stepped up beside him and looked down to the churning ocean, a brilliant turquoise under the bright, sudden sun. I squinted down at the long, sleek motorboat, wondering if I could trust my eyes.

“Am I seeing things?” I whispered. “Is that . . .” I couldn’t bear to say his name, raise their hopes, in case I was wrong.

“You’re not,” Ronan said with a grin. “It’s him!”

CHAPTER
6

ANDRIANA

R
aniero
. I let out a breathy, shocked laugh as Vidar hooted and Bellona and Tressa shouted his name.

Killian tied a quick knot in a thick rope and sent the heavy coils over the side. My stomach sank. I wanted to get down to the beach as fast as anyone. But did we really have to do it this way? Ronan’s hand covered my arm. Looking up at his handsome face, marred by the obvious beatings he’d taken, I felt more cowardly than ever.

“It’s stupid, Ronan,” I began.

“Hey,” he said, interrupting. “It’s just part of you, for now. Not that you won’t ever get past it . . .”

His good eye met mine and we shared a rueful smile. “All right,” he amended. “Maybe you won’t ever get past it. But we can deal with it.” His warm, full lips curved into a smile and he winced, just as I saw the crack at the corner, shedding fresh blood.

I eyed the curving stone road we’d taken up here from the harbor. “Can’t Niero meet us at the docks?”

Ronan shook his head quickly. “Ah, we took out a fair number of the soldiers down there, and the rest are trying to save the
Far North
from sinking. But we want them to stay focused on that, rather than head up here to see what’s taking the others so long, right? Buy us time to get away.”

I nodded, silently cursing my odd fear of heights. If the Maker was going to gift us, why saddle us with something else that might endanger the group? Bellona passed by us, guessing what was going on, and gave me a dubious look.

And why was it that
I
had to have the handicap?

“Ignore her,” Ronan said, squeezing my arm. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” I said, facing him in misery. “All I see is the beating you obviously took. While I was free.”

I tried to ignore my stomach twisting as Bellona casually dropped over the wall with Vidar right behind her. Then Killian and Tressa were next.

“Look at me,” Ronan growled.

I looked up into his good eye, so tender with love, and it made me both want to laugh and cry at the same time.

He smiled and then winced again. “There. That. Hold on to that, Andriana. Hopefully that will keep you distracted for the time it takes for me to get you down.”

“But Ronan, your wound. You can barely get yourself down with one good arm. You can’t —”

“Andriana,” he interrupted. “I have you. Think no more of it.”

I nodded and looked down as he turned, unwilling for him to see my face and guess my doubt. But I tried really hard as he crouched down to let me climb on his back. I wrapped my
arms over his massive shoulders, trying to avoid his right side, clasping my hands tightly under his chin and clenching his hips with my legs.

“Yes, good,” he said, patting my leg. “If you can keep most of your weight centered there, around my hips, it’ll help.”

Then he was up on the wall, turning and dropping, rappelling down the side of the prison that had looked so fearfully high from down below when we sailed in.
No
, I told myself.
Stop thinking about your fear. Think about good things. Concentrate on Ronan, as he said. His love, his crazy-fierce devotion. His love! He loves me!

And then we were down on the ragged, black rocks, crashing waves sending a fine mist over us. Killian gently lifting me off of Ronan’s back and supported me when my trembling legs threatened to give out. Ronan turned and gave me a tremulous smile as he loosed the ropes. I could see what it had cost him, this last effort, when he hurt so. We dived shallowly into the water, and swam out to the boat, Killian helping Ronan along. “Him first,” I insisted, scared that Ronan was so weak he might drown right there beside us. Killian scrambled in, and together with Raniero, leaned down, grabbed hold of Ronan, and heaved him up and in. It was only then that Ronan cried out. It was a gasping, guttural cry.

Vidar and Bellona grasped my arms and effortlessly lifted me in, and then Raniero was before me. It was really him.
Alive. Well.
“Niero!” I fell into his burly arms, inhaling the dry, strong scent of him, feeling my limp legs gain instant strength.

After a moment, I made myself step away and look at him. Fading bruises were still visible, even on his mahogany skin. Killian wrapped a blanket around me, and I realized I was shivering and that the ripped, wet Pacifican gown left little to
hide. But I was too wrapped up in Niero’s miraculous appearance to worry. “How, Niero? How did you get away?”

“It’s not important,” he said, taking my hand in his, then looking to the rest. “What’s important is that we need to put some miles between us and this cursed prison.” He leaned down and clasped Kapriel’s hand, something unspoken moving between them. Tressa, wrapped in a blanket, moved between Kapriel and Ronan as she tended to their wounds.

“The farther we can get from here the better,” Kapriel said weakly, even as Niero moved to the steering wheel and pressed down on a lever at his side. Some sort of ancient engine roared to life, making the entire boat rattle and yet surge forward at a frightening speed. We soon skimmed across the water, bouncing across the waves.

Chilled, I settled into a seat beside Ronan, nestled into the crook of his armpit, half against his chest and well away from his wound, as we watched the Isle of Catal disappear behind us, the wake of the boat like a dissipating road of white, soon absorbed by the teal-colored sea.

We’d done it.

We’d freed the man that Keallach had held prisoner for season upon season.

I turned and looked at him again, to make certain it was real, that I wasn’t dreaming. How odd it was, to begin the day on one ship with Keallach, then end the day on another with his twin. A shiver ran down my back.

We’d won the battle.

But we’d also just openly declared war.

For hours we drove through the waves, at times so big that it felt as if we were aloft for seconds at a time. Tressa stitched and bound Ronan’s wound at the shoulder, and mine on the leg. While there was a great deal of blood over the white gown I still wore, my wound was superficial. Ronan’s piercing wound would take a great deal longer to heal. I watched Tressa as she worked on him, so intent that she could ignore the way he winced and shut his eyes tightly against the pain. And yet here and there, she would lay a delicate hand on his other shoulder or whisper “almost done,” encouraging him through. She was thorough and quick, and my admiration for her grew alongside a deep gratitude that the Maker had brought her to us.

To the west, the sun was beginning to set, and a deep, gray mist had moved in from the ocean as if it was bent on blanketing the entire coast. Just when I was craning my neck, trying to get a glimpse of the fuel gauge on Niero’s console, he banked right and headed toward the beach, where we could see a limp tendril of smoke rising from a fire.