Season of Glory (45 page)

And in love—forever in love—with another.

Ronan
.

I let out a growl of complaint, finally understanding it for the last time. She wasn't
mine.

She was my brother's.

My brother's. Not the brother formed in tandem in my mother's womb. But just as
surely my brother's.

I turned to two guards who had just entered the fray, sending their swords skittering
across the stones. They stared at me in stark terror as I approached and looked them
in the eye. “Go below to the dungeons, and free the prisoners. Quickly!”

Their eyes dilated, and they turned on their heels to run and do as I bid.

I could feel my enemy's eyes on the back of my neck, his hatred, even before my armband
told me he was advancing.

Sethos. My once-savior.

My utter downfall.

He carried the dead Kendric's sword in his hand and came at me, nostrils flared with
rage. I blocked his strike, and our swords crossed above our heads. “I trusted you,”
I said, panting from my exertion at holding him back.

“As I did you,” he spat, whirling to strike again.

But I could tell he wasn't certain—wasn't sure that I was wholly the Maker's yet.
Because I knew there was far more power behind his strike than he had just now brought
against me. And I was using my weaker hand. He was wondering if there was still an
opportunity, a way in.

“It is over, Sethos,” I said, our swords cutting a vibrating sound in our ears as
we slid apart again. “You did your best. But this day belongs to the Maker.”

With that word, he advanced on me with a vengeance, granting me no quarter, no edge.
I frowned, trying to set up blocks with my gifting, but failed. I needed time to
concentrate, I decided. A breath of time. But onward he came, until I was backed
against a wall.

If Vidar and Bellona hadn't arrived then to aid me, each with a sword tip at his
neck, I would likely have died.

Sethos stilled.

“Seems the rats have escaped their dungeon,” Vidar quipped. “Shall this be a swift
or drawn-out death, Lord Sethos?” he asked. Behind him, I saw Killian take down a
Sheolite guard, nearly cutting him in half.

“Oh,” Sethos sneered, dark eyes shifting left and right, “let's draw it out. But
it will be your deaths I shall relish, not my own.”

Vidar's eyes danced. “As you wish,” he said, sliding his sword in a shallow groove
across Sethos's chest. Bellona thrust her sword forward, aiming for his jugular,
but Sethos twisted in a frighteningly inhuman move, and her sword met only air.

“You shall pay for that,” Sethos seethed toward Vidar, putting a hand to his chest.
He grabbed for me next, but Bellona was already pulling me out of harm's way, and
I found myself side by side with Ronan, who had just brought down a Sheolite. Together,
we looked around. And found whom we sought.

Andriana.

“You go to her,” I grunted. “I must finish Sethos.”

“Wait!” Tressa said, running toward me, Killian beside her, and placing her healing
hands on my injured arm. “Just give me a moment…”

ANDRIANA

Two Sheolites moved in on me, one from either side, and I shifted back and forth.
The sword was awkward in my hand, too big for my grip. And my cursed dress, so tight
all along my body, made it feel like I was fighting with my legs tied together. It
wasn't long before one Sheolite disarmed me, sending my sword clanging to the stones.

I glanced around for anything I could grab to protect myself, while still more Sheolites
arrived to fight the prisoners who had escaped and followed the Ailith to aid us.
I reached for a silver tray just as my attacker brought his sword toward me, and
managed to block his strike. The tray folded around his weapon, hitting my shoulder,
and I wrenched it away, letting
out a humorless laugh at the look on his face. Apparently,
he'd never attacked a Remnant armed with a tray. But once again, he advanced on me,
pulling two daggers from his belt. I edged away, putting a table and then a chair
between us.

With a roar, Ronan came after him, swiftly taking him down. Once again, I grabbed
a sword from the ground and stood, back-to-back with Ronan, as the next came at us.
“This cursed dress,” I said to him. “I can barely move.”

“Stay beside me,” he grunted, blocking his next adversary's blow.

He needn't have said it. I was determined not to be separated from him again. We
used long-practiced moves and quiet words of warning to deal with the two upon us,
and then a third after them. Which was good, because clearly the Sheolites no longer
had orders to spare me. They were bent on killing us both.

Weariness settled over me like a net. We couldn't keep this up for long. We needed
the Remnants in full force.
Maker, show us the way.

It was then that I felt the warmth in my arm cuff, the presence of the Maker and
his angels. Vidar was grinning as he advanced on a Sheolite before him, waggling
his eyebrows at me as I caught his glance. I saw Killian, protecting Kapriel as he
lifted his hands to the sky, the wind and rain now just beginning to hit us. Azarel
and Asher were there, each firing arrows into our enemies. Lord Cyrus now fought
Lord Jala.

Still more allies flooded onto the terrace. Drifter and Aravander and Georgiian,
and even some Pacificans, all going after our enemies. In the sky, the clouds—alight
with coral sunset hues—swirled, the funnel building in response to Kapriel's call
to arms. Those enemies in front of us found
themselves fighting on two sides, and
we began winnowing away their number. Wind began whipping around us.

Keallach was advancing on Sethos, palms out before him, face taut with deadly intent.
Sethos staggered and tried to lift his sword, but it was as if it weighed a thousand
pounds. “Stop it!” he shouted at Keallach. “You are mine!”

“No,” Keallach said, shaking his head a little, grief in his eyes. “You tried to
make me yours, but I have always belonged to the Maker.”

One of Azarel's arrows pierced Sethos's shoulder.

He sneered at her as she drew another arrow across her bow, his wings unfolding behind
him. But he looked again to Keallach. “You think the Maker shall forgive all you
have done to harm him and his cause? He shall send you to join me, one way or another.”

“No,” I said, moving closer. “He shall not.”

I could feel Keallach weakening, doubting in the face of the enemy's lies, and I
placed my hand on his shoulder. Vidar came up too, putting his hand on the other
shoulder. Together, we drove toward Sethos, knowing our Knights would protect our
backs. Our battle was here, against the darkest one we'd ever met. Tressa came behind
us, putting her hands on Vidar and me, and I felt the surge of power move through
us into Keallach.

Sethos dropped his sword and continued to move backward. “You think this ends here?”
he spat.

“Yes, it ends here,” Kapriel said, coming to stand beside his brother and bringing
down the heart of the funnel cloud around us. It sealed us off from the others. Every
time someone tried to approach us, they were tossed aside. It was like we stood
in the eye of a tornado.

Sethos hit a marble column and looked wildly about. His wings were unfurled, as if
he was poised to fly, but with our combined power, we kept him in place.

Azarel approached him, drawing an arrow across her bowstring.

“For every one of the Maker's beloved you have murdered, for the harm you have wrought
upon this world, I will send you to the underworld, never to return.”

“You, little angel?” he sneered. “You truly think one such as you can take
me
down?
Did you not see how I destroyed your beloved Raniero?”

He dodged her next arrow and advanced upon her. Azarel let her wings unfurl, and
in a blur of motion drew Sethos to one side.

Allowing Ronan's sword to cut into his back.

And Killian's sword to pierce him through the belly as he arched.

And Bellona's dagger to drive into his neck.

He fell to his knees as Killian withdrew his sword, gurgling, choking on his own
blood, and letting his staff fall.

“May you rot in the dark, thinking about all you once had . . . and lost,” Azarel
said, lifting his staff in her small, strong hand. “This is for Raniero,” she bit
out, and then pierced him through the heart with his own weapon.

“And this is for everyone else,” Killian said, bringing his blade down across Sethos's
neck in a killing arc that vanquished our enemy.

Forever.

CHAPTER
45

ANDRIANA

T
he wind ceased, and the sudden silence sounded like its own form of sound. It was
like
everyone
on the crowded terrace held their breath. But as we slowly turned to see our friends,
the Maker's own, standing with our foes at their feet, a cheer rose into the air.
Men and women raised fists, shouting, smiling, hooting their praise, and then pressed
in toward us, lifting us, dancing, and singing.

We had done it. Or rather, the people had done it, I thought. The Remnants had merely
been the catalysts. All along, the Way was much stronger than anything we held as
our own gifts.
Together, we are strongest,
I thought, relaxing, exulting in the sensation
of being held by hundreds, passed along above them as they sang and danced, carried
out of the palace and into the streets where bonfires had been lit and thousands
more seemed to congregate. It was there in a large plaza that I
was finally set upon
my feet, and soon, Keallach and Kapriel, Ronan, Bellona, Vidar, Tressa, Killian,
and Azarel were set beside me.

I caught Vidar's furrowed brow as he looked to an alleyway and spied some people,
with bundles upon their backs or at the sides of mudhorses, moving away from us,
down the street. I cupped his cheek and gave him an understanding look. “This is
the Maker's city now,” I said. “People accept it or they do not. It is their choice.”

“But why?” He shook his head, hands on his hips. “Why would they not choose this?”
he said, throwing his hands up and gesturing around, his grin returning. The people
did not allow us to continue our conversation, but wrapped us into a dance in which
you placed your right arm around the shoulder of the person next to you and your
left arm around the hip of the other. To my left was Ronan, and he smiled down at
me with such love and glory that I thought I might burst with how it filled me.

He helped me keep my feet, seeing anew how the gown bound me, and when the song finally
waned, he pulled me aside, bending down with his knife to split the skirt from knee
to ankle. I sighed with relief. Even though the bodice was still tight, being able
to move freely was just the aid I sought. He sheathed his knife and then pulled me
into his arms, cradling my head and stroking my back. “Dri, I am so glad . . . for
all that's been accomplished, but most of all, that you are safe.”

“As I am, you,” I said, pulling him closer. “We might not be handfasted anymore,
but I never want to be out of arm's reach from you again.”

“Never,” he growled, and bent to capture my lips with his own. When our kiss ended,
he looked down at me, admiring me. “You're in the gown. Shall we take our vows this
night?”

I smiled and gave him a sad grin. “You know as well as I do the right answer to that.”

He groaned, stroking my cheek. “Yes,” he said with an agonized sigh. “I do. But
I shall be counting the days, Andriana of the Valley, until we celebrate the first
full moon of Hoarfrost of our second decade.”

“As will I,” I said, smiling back at him. “But first . . .”

“Yes, yes,” he said, pulling me back into his arms and kissing my head. “Pacifica,
right? My Rem won't rest until every innocent is freed.”

EPILOGUE

ANDRIANA

P
acifica gave way soon after. Without the Council or Sethos, they couldn't stand
against
the
swelling forces of the Trading Union for long. And when the brothers offered to retake
the throne, they were welcomed. Over the seasons that followed, many thronged to
our cause. The Wall was taken down and new roads were built, binding the empire into
one. One empire governed by Remnant princes, led by the Way. The factories and mines
that held captive children were emptied, and people went to work in them for a fair
wage. Emissaries were sent off to reach new lands with word of who now controlled
our lands—twin brothers, sharing the throne in the West, honoring the One who had
placed them there.

But while we often went to see our brothers, Asher, and Azarel in the West, Ronan
and I mostly stayed in the Valley, where we staked out land and built cozy cottages
in a new village that eventually housed each of the Ailith. Bellona became a lead
hunter. Vidar became a blacksmith, but spent more time chasing the Aravander gunner-girl
than at his anvil. Tressa
and Killian set up a small hospital, while Ronan and I
took to learning the ways of farming from Dagan. Over the next two Harvests, the
Ailith set out together for a few weeks, each time called to reach a new land, to
tell new people about the Way and the Maker. But we were always most content at home.

And on a perfectly still, clear Hoarfrost night, the sky alight with stars and a
full moon making the snow around us glitter, Ronan and I exchanged our forever vows,
surrounded by our friends and family, including grandparents and aunts and uncles
and cousins that we were just getting to know, finally reunited. But even with all
that family around us—blood kin and Ailith kin—I had eyes for one man alone. And
that man took me home that night and made me his, in ways we had longed for, season
upon season.