Season of Glory (34 page)

Kapriel nodded, moving toward his chair, his excitement palpable. “They are a people,
long asleep. It's our chance to shake them awake.”

“If the Maker calls us to it,” Ronan reminded them, his brow furrowed.

“Of course,” Keallach said, nodding reassuringly. “If he calls.”

“But it would make sense,” Kapriel pressed. “Would it not?”

“Possibly,” Niero said. “But wait on him. Do not press your own way in this, understood?
We are on his path, working in his timing. If we make this more about us than him,
then we leave the path. For now, you've mutually agreed upon his call to Georgii
Post. Right?”

“Right,” we all murmured, trepidation swirling about us, even as a steady assurance
filled each of our minds and hearts.

There was surely more than one battle ahead.

Soon, there would be outright war.

CHAPTER
33

ANDRIANA

W
e approached Georgii Post with hundreds of armed people alongside us. But when
we
reached
the first part of the curving canyon that descended downward between soaring red
cliffs, our four scouts rode back to us, eyes wide.

“You're not going to believe this,” said Barrett.

“They seem to be welcoming us!” finished his younger, Aravander companion.

Keallach and Kapriel shared a long look. “How so?” Kapriel asked.

“A Georgii guard met us, waving a white flag,” said Barrett, giving the second a
warning look about interrupting him again. “The Pacificans heard we approached, and
since they felt their support within the city had slowly been eroding, they elected
to vacate the city rather than oppose us. They didn't want another Zanzibar experience.
They decided to cut their losses and retreat to Castle Vega.”

“To Castle Vega!” repeated the second gleefully, unabashed by his superior's sour
look.

“Do you think it might be a trap?” Ronan asked, lifting a hand. We'd assembled as
a circle, we Remnants and Knights, as well as other key leaders, Cyrus and Sesille
among them.

Barrett studied Ronan for a moment, and his lips twitched. “Could be. Hard for me
to believe the Pacificans would simply abandon such a fruitful city within the Union.
But the people assemble, clearly ready to welcome the crown princes.” His dark eyes
moved to Kapriel and Keallach.

“Which means it could be an even more elaborate trap,” Kapriel said, looking to his
brother. Keallach, arms crossed, nodded once.

“What do you sense? See?” Niero asked Vidar.

“You mean, besides a warm bed beneath a roof tonight, I assume,” Vidar said, moving
past him to look down the serpentine canyon, as if he could see the city gates themselves.

“Besides that,” Niero returned. We'd all inwardly groaned when the cold, pelting
rain of Hoarfrost greeted us the moment we'd left the Valley mouth. Some had outright
wondered if it was a sign we should return home.

Vidar wiped his wet face and took a few more steps to the edge of the cliff, where
we had been awaiting our scouts before descending deeper into the canyon, in order
to avoid an increased chance of attack from above. After several long moments, he
turned and shook his head, looking perplexed. “I think it's only the lingering stench
of our enemies. It feels safe to me.” He nodded upward, to the canyon rim. “And we
are not alone.”

I shivered, recognizing at once the truth of his words. Our unseen guardians had
not left us since the attack on the
Citadel. Every day, they went before us, beside
us, behind us, and there were days I didn't remember to reach out, to see if I could
sense them. And then I was surprised when someone—usually Vidar—reminded me. Silently,
I apologized to the Maker. How much he did for me—for us—day in and day out. How
much he watched over us, led us, and protected us! And yet how much I forgot.

Make me a daughter of memory, Maker. Don't let me forget to honor you. Help me to
make you first and foremost through every hour.

The young husband and wife we'd rescued from Georgii Post approached Ronan and me
as we resumed our progress down the canyon on mudhorses. “Everything all right?”
the man asked, casting a suspicious glance down the road before us. We'd left their
child in my parents' care, aware that their experience and knowledge of the city
would be valuable to us all. Bravely, they'd agreed. They'd been as clearly called
to join us on this mission as they had been called to come to us in the Citadel,
a week past. Azarel and Asher were with us too, given their experience and connections
in Georgii Post, but also because they seemed to be an integral part of our team
now, just as Cyrus was. And due to Azarel's gifts with the bow and Asher's ability
to connect with others, they were becoming invaluable to us. Especially without
Chaza'el . . .

A pang of sorrow went through me at the memory of him, dead in the Citadel. He had
been as serene in death as he had been in life, almost as if he'd been asleep, rather
than having moved on to the afterlife. Perhaps it had been a part of his gifting—flowing
with life rather than butting heads with it over and over again allowed him to “see”
forward, on occasion. I glanced at Ronan and reached over to take his hand in mine.
He cast me a curious look, but I said nothing, just squeezed his fingers and looked
forward. Whatever was ahead of us, I would do my best to take in stride. There'd
been so much battle in our lives. Perhaps here, now, the Maker meant us to simply
be with him. Perhaps he had already won any victory necessary.

Niero was the first to hear the singing as we edged ever closer to the city entrance.
He pulled up short and lifted a fist, signaling that we were all to stop. And that's
when we heard it too. Thousands of voices, some deep and resonant, others high and
melodious, all singing the same song I'd heard as a child but forgotten.

Ronan's face broke out in a smile, eyes wide in recognition, and he began to mouth
the words with them. Asher wasn't mouthing the words, he was belting them out, one
hand thumping his chest, the other lifting up to the sky, tears streaming down his
cheeks. Azarel looked similarly stricken, her face uncustomarily soft and reverent,
like I hadn't seen it since that day in the Hoodite cave. And then I thought of it.
Was this a song they had taught their precious orphans? In their school before the
children had been taken? Some to be adopted, and others to work the cursed mines?

Was it possible? I felt like we were dreaming as we moved again as one, now singing
what we could remember of a song that our ancestors once knew well. We rounded the
corner, and the song became loud enough to cover the noise of our horses and clanking
swords and the rough purr of engines. I wanted to stop, just then and there, to absorb
it. The hundreds, if not thousands, of people. The waving of their arms, the undeniable
swell of joy within them all.

Before us, the crowd parted, and we passed through, many reaching out to touch us,
faces wet, others kneeling in
reverence of the Maker's Way, so visible in our arrival.
We had expected battle. Bloodshed. But all we received here, now, was love. Adulation.
Praise. Welcome.

It was little wonder the Maker had called us here. He wanted to remind us that we
were his people and we were not alone on this journey. We'd suffered. Taken terrible
losses. But here there were more to stand against the tide.

We all recognized this truth. Not one of our faces was dry, even Killian's, I noted
with a giggle. His usual stern expression was broken by utter surprise and joy as
the crowd moved into another song, one I knew him to hum on occasion, but for which
I had never known the words.

We finally came to a stop at the chief magistrate's sprawling home, where apparently
the city's people expected us to stay. There was no gray uniform in sight, no Pacifican
perusing the Georgiians as if they were Pacifican subjects rather than citizens of
an independent town of the Trading Union. Servants bowed and welcomed us, offering
to show us to our rooms after we ate. But first, there was a banquet table that they
wanted us to see.

We were led into room after room of tables, laden with food like I hadn't seen since
I'd fled Palace Pacifica. Fruit—dried and fresh—along with cured meats and fresh
bread and jugs of wine and five different kinds of cheese. Most sat down at the first
empty spots they reached, but we Ailith carried on until we entered a larger room,
with a huge, circular table.

“This is where you belong,” said the head servant, a tall, thin, angular man with
a pinched look to his face but eyes and heart full of nothing but relief. “This is
where you have always belonged, I wager,” he added with a solemn nod.

We spread out along the edge, and I took a seat between Keallach and Ronan, not willing
to find another simply to
spare Ronan's feelings. Not in this moment. It was all
so right, and there was such an intense feeling of homecoming that I didn't want
to obey any spirit of hesitation, nor entertain any thought that might mar it. This
was what my mom meant about home being anyplace in which one met like hearts. It
didn't matter that we weren't in the Valley. Or in the Citadel. It only mattered
that we were with fellow people of the Way.

Almost every seat in the huge circle was filled. Vidar poured a goblet of wine and
lifted it up. We followed his gesture and did the same, waiting on him. “To a battle
won, that we didn't have to fight,” he said.

“Hear hear,” we all said, drinking to his toast.

“I submit,” said our servant-host, who had introduced himself as Clancy, “that you
have been battling for some time, in ways that we haven't seen ourselves, but that
have borne beautiful results. To the unseen battle and the spoils of war,” he said,
lifting his goblet.

“Hear, hear to
spoils
,” Vidar said, and we repeated his reply with smiles and soft
laughter. Niero was right. Our responsibility was to go where the Maker led us,
to do what he asked, and trust him with what we could not control. Was this not evidence
of that fact?

Ronan cut a slab of oddly pale meat and put it on my plate, eyes twinkling at the
bounty. We hadn't eaten since breakfast, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Keallach turned partially toward me, as if he'd heard. There was half a loaf of bread
in his hand, and he bit a chunk off, chewing the crusty delicacy with emphasis as
he watched me cut a bite of meat and place it in my mouth. I closed my eyes, wondering
over the taste of lemon and rosemary on a delicate, white meat.

“Chicken,” he informed me conspiratorially. “And very well prepared.”

Chicken
, I repeated silently in my head, eagerly taking another bite and another,
until my whole portion was gone. I eyed the table platter, wondering if I could be
so bold as to take another piece before even my fruit and vegetables and bread was
gone. Ronan was distracted, talking and laughing with Vidar on his other side.

“Go on,” Keallach chided. “This is the first of many feasts, and you've gone without
long enough.”

It was true. How much had I missed over the years? Sacrificed? Wasn't I worthy of
abundance, for once? Even when I'd been in the palace before, I'd felt half sick.
I'd not been in any position to truly enjoy the bounty. Here, now, for the first
time in my entire life . . .

The thought brought me up short.
For the first time in my entire life.
While others
were outside, still never having had the chance. I stuffed a bite of bread in my
mouth, chewing on both it and the thoughts roiling about in my head. What were we
doing in here with such bounty? Who were we to separate ourselves?

I was rising before I fully recognized what I was doing.

“Andriana,” Keallach said in a hush, “what is it?”

“Dri?” Ronan asked, finally turning my way again as I shoved my chair back and waited
for others to see me. Gradually, the room grew quiet.

“Are not all invited to the Maker's feast?” I asked carefully. “And yet here we sit,
as if we were conquerors. As if we deserve more than our brothers and sisters, some
of them new to the faith today. Let us take our fill, but not beyond, and then take
the rest to the others.”

“No,” Tressa said rising, reaching for another platter. “Your first impulse was right,
sister. Let us take it now, before we even take our fill. To those who can't even
reach the gates of this mansion. To the sick, the weak, the hungry . . .”

Keallach and Vidar made half-hearted attempts to sway us, but we ignored them. As
one, we knew this was the next, right step, and all of us gathered up every smidgen
of food and all the jugs of wine and carried them out, past the others in the next
rooms who gaped at us and then gradually followed suit. Together, we moved outward
to the street and divided naturally along the labyrinthine avenues and alleyways,
handing out plums and apples and bananas and slices of meat and chunks of bread.
Ronan was with me for a time and then he was not, but I wasn't worried. I sensed
only pleasure and peace among the people. Joy and praise. Excitement. Gratitude.

And as I continued to hand out all I had, I realized I was no longer hungry. Feeding
others fed a deeper part of me. Finally, my platter was empty except for one last
slice of cheese and one chunk of bread. I set the silver platter on a low wall and
smiled as a little boy tentatively grabbed hold of it. “Go on,” I said. I knew he'd
just finished the apple I'd given him. “Take that platter. Sell it and use the proceeds
to help you buy food for yourself and others over the coming weeks. Agreed?”

He nodded excitedly. I scooped up the bread and cheese before he made off with it
too, and then looked around, wondering whom the Maker would have me feed next. This
alley was deep in shadow, and yet I knew I was where I was supposed to be. I took
a few tentative steps, smiling as people passed by the mouth of the alley singing
and laughing. It was so vastly different than the last time we'd run through this
way, battling back such horrific evil, with Sheolites kidnapping children
and trackers
who hunted us. Now the streets were awash in peace. I took a few more steps and saw
her . . . a small child, curled up in a ball against a gap in the wall, her knees
pressed against her chest and her dress much too light in the face of a night that,
even now, whispered of Hoarfrost snowflakes.