Season of Glory (11 page)

CHAPTER
11

ANDRIANA

I
reached for dreams but couldn't grasp deep sleep. I tossed. I turned. And, finally,
I
rose.

I blinked several times, trying to get my bearings. Ronan slept in the bed on the
other side of the room, as peacefully as if he hadn't a care in the world.

But I did.

I did.

I rubbed my temples, trying to wriggle out the troublesome thoughts in my brain,
then eventually slid to the door—well aware of the Knight in my chambers and his
otherworldly ability to sense subtle changes in me—and eased out to the hall. I
counted it as a small miracle that I succeeded. Ronan's breath still was slow and
deep as I gently closed the door behind me.

My heart stuttered for a second. Niero was at the end of the hall, his wings partially
unfurled, a mighty, fearsome silhouette
against a torch in the distance. With one
glance over his shoulder at me, he turned and walked away. This was why I had awakened
and couldn't go back to sleep. He'd called to me.

I followed after him, sure he'd slipped into the meeting hall, the beehive-like room
where we first received word of the Call, where we received our armbands, where the
Community always met. But it was empty. I had no idea where Raniero went, so I climbed
the stairs to the top and sank onto the rock-hewn bench at the very back, marveling
at the view from this steep angle and pondering why Niero might've called me out
and then disappeared. But the space felt good to me. Like breathing space. Time
to think and feel . . . and pray. I leaned against the cold wall behind me and turned
my cheek to look down the line of it, to stare at the scoops in the stone and, for
the first time, to contemplate what they represented. It occurred to me, for the
very first time, that this hall had been carved, bit by bit, by my people. Over years.
Over decades. Over . . . centuries? The Maker hadn't created it. People had. How
long had it taken? How many?

And all for . . . us?

For . . . now?

I turned and looked down below to Niero, who now stood in the center of the dais,
hands at his side, head bowed, as if preparing himself for what was to come. His
wings had disappeared. He'd led me here then left me to contemplate, as if orchestrating
my thoughts.

“Were you here?” I asked, my voice echoing eerily down to him in the cavernous hall.

“Here?”

His voice sounded hollow, distant, echoey, from just fifty paces away. And yet close.
Inside
me. I hadn't even seen his lips form the words. And yet I'd heard them.

I thought of what I had seen when Ronan almost died.

When Niero brought him back to life.

How his wings stretched out . . .

“Were you here,” I forced myself to repeat, feeling half fearful and half mesmerized,
“when they hollowed out this room? Niero. Have you been alive . . . for a very long
time? Awaiting our arrival?”

His dark eyes met mine. “No. I was not here. It was many seasons before I came to
the Valley.” He paused and then moved to the wall behind him, his brown, strong fingers
brushing the unique, carved texture for a moment. “But the Citadel has been here
for a long time, Andriana. It was always meant to be our fortress. Our shield.”

I rubbed my hand across the opposite wall, thinking of all the men and women—the
generations—this room had welcomed. The hundreds upon hundreds who had gathered sat
on these benches, talking, praying, laughing, crying. They'd carved these halls from
solid rock—not sandstone, but granite—preparing this place for us, a fortress for
the faithful.

“Were you brought here to lead us?” I asked, still staring at the wall, the scoops
and divots that represented so many.

“To guide and defend you,” he said, climbing the steps toward me now, as if he hovered
over them. And perhaps he did.

“But you did not defend us from everything,” I said, meeting his gaze again. He
was now just ten paces away. “From all of our enemies.” Again, I thought of him with
Ronan. Of watching me disappear with Keallach. Of all I'd endured within Palace Pacifica.
Of all my parents had endured.

“I was sent to guide and defend,” he repeated. “I cannot keep you from your own choices.”

“My own choices,” I choked out, rising. “My own
choices
.”

I started to walk down the stairs toward him, pausing two steps away so his eyes
were on my level. “You, Raniero, have the power of the
heavens
. And you allowed Keallach
to take me? To Pacifica?”

His dark eyes met mine, and in them, I saw the wisdom of the ages, startling yet
reassuring all at once. How had I ever—
ever
—not known this man was anything but human?

“It was your choice,” he said, an edge of pain in his eyes. “To run into the woods
without your Knight. You wanted to save Killian. To do it yourself. You did not wait,
did not wait to seek the wisdom the Maker might give you. You simply
went
.”

I winced. I wanted to deny his words, to defend myself. But I could not. What he
said was the truth. I looked down. There was nothing to parse. No shred for me to
argue.

Niero reached out and touched my chin, lifting it. “But it was for good in the end,
yes? The Maker uses all for good, if we allow it.” His hand moved to my cheek, cradling
it, forcing me to think it through and giving me the rare opportunity to freely sense
his intense emotions.

I searched his eyes, wondering what he wanted me to discover. But it was mainly
encouragement I sensed from him. Hope. I considered why I was angry with him, why
I blamed him.

“He has made you strong, Andriana,” Niero said. “Soft and malleable in some ways,
as an empath. But you are capable of utilizing wisdom and connection with him to
make the most of that. He will mold you, if you allow it. He will use every experience
in your life, good or bad, to mold you into a woman after his own heart. Which is
what he wants most, Andriana,” he said, taking my hand, and I felt a jolt of holy
connection run through me, warming me from my head to my toes. “Not to use you, or
harm you. But to bring you closer to his own heart. The closer you get, the greater
your empath skills will grow, and the wiser your decisions will be.”

My mind went through all I'd endured, all I'd encountered, all I'd reached for.
My failures. As a Remnant. Reaching for Keallach. Trying to bring him . . . home.

And it was true. Somehow, someway, it'd all been for good. It was good that I'd tried.
It was right that I had been there, trying to bridge the gap between Keallach and
his brothers and sisters. It had been worth it.

All of it. Every treacherous moment with Keallach and Sethos. Those long days locked
in my room. Weeks away from the Remnants, all in an effort to reach my brother, my
kin, the one I had loved like a—

“Dri? Are you all right?”

Ronan's voice shocked me out of my reverie, and I glanced down the steep stairs to
where he stood in the doorway. I saw at once how it might have looked, Niero holding
my hand between his, me looking so intent . . . while I was now Ronan's bound bride.

Niero dropped my hand but refused to look at Ronan . . . refused to give in to guilt-by-assumption.
But I wasn't as strong. And the false guilt made me blush, which made me angrier,
which in turn led to more furious blushing. I brushed past Niero and went down the
stairs.

“It's fine, Ronan,” I muttered. “I simply couldn't sleep, and Niero was helping me
think through some things. We should go back now. I'm terribly tired.” I tried to
edge past him, but Ronan caught my wrist and pulled me back toward him. “So you went
to him, not me?”

“He was up too. I didn't purposefully seek him out.”

“No,” Niero said, coming closer. “It was I who sought her.”

“You . . . sought
her
. For what reason?” Ronan asked, letting me go to focus on
Niero.

“Because she is agitated. Restless. Ill at ease.”

“Then it was I who should have attended her,” Ronan said, turning to fully face him
in challenge.

Niero did not flinch. “You do not wish to fight me, Knight. No matter how . . .
agitated you might feel. There is no cause for jealousy here.
No
cause.”

CHAPTER
12

ANDRIANA

N
o?” Ronan asked, fists clenching and unclenching. “You've always been against us
being
together,
opposed any romantic inklings. Are you sure it's not because you entertained some
of your own?”

“Ronan,” I tried, growing thoroughly embarrassed. “You have it all wrong.” I moved
between them, shoving one muscular, broad chest away from the other. “Now stop it.”

“Think on it,” Niero said, focusing only on Ronan. “I opposed your union at first,
but not since we returned here. I was only following what the elders had directed—that
you were to hold off on such feelings because it might get in the way of our mission.
Now the Maker has made a way for you and Andriana, as well as Killian and Tressa.”

“And yet you did not take vows with Azarel, as the elders dictated,” Ronan said.

“Azarel and I have our own reasons not to take the vows. You will simply have to
trust me.”

The sounds of approaching footsteps finally registered in my ears, and it was then
that I noticed that Niero was already pulling away. It wasn't just footsteps, I registered.
Boots. Many pairs of boots approached.

“What? At this hour?” Ronan grumbled, alarmed, and pulled me slightly behind him.

They entered the hall. Two guards each holding two people in custody. I gaped at
them in shock. Two Pacifican women, their gowns in tatters and shoulders bleeding,
as well as two men.

“We found these Pacifican spies in the Valley!” said one Aravander guard.

“They're lucky we didn't kill them on sight,” said another.

“We are not spies!” cried one of the men.

Their hands were bound, and their eyes were covered with blindfolds. The Aravander
guards shoved them to their knees, and the women cried out. I winced as I felt a
wave of their fear and pain. “Stop!” I cried. “There is no reason for such rough
treatment!” Again, my eyes went to their shoulders. There was blood there on each
of them, but not a lot.

Behind them came several of the elders, who gave us a surprised look before turning
to the newcomers before them. Cornelius was among them, looking like he'd been awakened
from a very deep sleep.

“They were found hiding at the mouth of the Valley, Father,” said one of the guards
to our elder. “Our scouts saw them and tracked them for a good distance before capturing
them and bringing them to us.”

Cornelius nodded. “Remove their blindfolds. And someone go and fetch Vidar and the
other Remnants not already
here.” He gave Ronan, Niero, and me a second, curious
glance, obviously wondering what we were doing here, given the hour.

“Please, we are seeking sanctuary,” said one of the young men, as soon as his blindfold
was removed and he blinked a few times. “May we speak to Lord Cyrus?”

“What makes you think Lord Cyrus is here?”

The young man's eyes moved from Cornelius to Ronan and me, then back again. “Because
they
are here—Andriana and Ronan of the Valley—and Lord Cyrus helped them escape.”

To recognize us, know our names . . .

“You came from the
palace
?” I spit out.

But Cornelius held up a hand, shushing me, and I belatedly felt his agitation over
my intrusion.

“How do you know these two are who you think they are?” the elder asked them gravely.

“Because every servant within Palace Pacifica knew them. Or at least Lady Andriana,”
he said, his face turning toward me. “She was at the ball on the emperor's arm. This
one, here,” he said, gesturing to one of the women, “attended her. Saw to her hair.”

Ronan tensed beside me, jealousy rising like steam from his head, but I ignored him
and came around the elders to face the girl. I studied her brown hair, now in matted
tangles, but I remembered the hazel-green eyes and curvaceous body that had made
Lord Maximillian stare after her in a proprietary way I hated. She wore a pretty
pendant that hovered between her ample breasts. So did the other one. I'd never seen
palace servants wear anything but the black leather braid across their heads. It
was then that I realized Cornelius was waiting on me to confirm her story.

“What they say is true,” I said. “She, at least, was assigned as my servant.”

Cornelius considered this. “How did you reach the Valley from Pacifica?” he asked.
But when the first man tried to speak, he shushed him, clearly waiting on the other
girl to answer.

She swallowed hard and then said, “We escaped from Castle Vega. The Council brings
a good number of servants with them when they retire to the palace there. We were
among them, and when we four were sent to the market, we simply kept walking.”

“For what purpose?” Cornelius asked, leaning toward her.

“To escape. To find freedom. To know more about the Way. That which had drawn Andriana
to escape. I mean, we thought, um . . . we wondered . . . we
hoped
there was a reason.
After all she had, all she was offered, for her to run away? We thought there
had
to be something mighty to pull her from the palace. That perhaps there was truth
we needed to know for ourselves.”

Cornelius straightened slowly, hands still behind his back. “How do we know that
it's not all a ruse? That you are not spies?”

“We're not!” cried the other woman. “For weeks now we've been secretly meeting with
one well-versed in the Way. Do you know of him? Father Jarad?”