Season of Glory (8 page)

“You should know, Father,” Niero said, “that Ronan and Andriana, Tressa and Killian
have done their best to avoid
what has been proposed.” He paused to eye each of us.
“But love happens where the Maker wills it. And I, too, believe this could be the
Maker's way of granting protection. Allow them to at least accept the vows of binding.
If Andriana and Tressa are claimed, no other man can claim them. And taking vows
now will only formalize what they already hold in their hearts.”

The white-haired elder shook his head slowly and rubbed his neck—not as if he disagreed,
but because he was thinking and struggling with conflicting thoughts.

The oracle reached out her bony, spotted hand toward him. “Cornelius,” she said softly.
I startled, realizing I had never heard his name before this.

The elder looked at her, paused, and then took her hand in his.

“They simply propose to do now,” she said, “what was to come in time. Why not allow
it if the Maker has made the way and it shall grant them further protection? I sense
none of his displeasure in this. Do you?”

He covered her hand with his other one, then looked to the rest of the gathered elders.
Each gradually gave him a single assenting nod before he turned back to us. Again,
I held my breath. Could this really be happening?

“Ronan and Andriana of the Valley, Killian and Tressa of Zanzibar, your request for
binding shall be granted. Upon the full moon, you shall exchange your vows and bind
your hearts and lives together. To the world beyond the Valley, it shall appear as
if you are fully betrothed. But you shall remain pure, leaving the intimacy reserved
for those truly married until five seasons hence, when, as is our custom, you shall
exchange your final vows and be bound by the Maker's blessing.”

It wasn't all that Ronan had asked for, but it meant a great deal to us. It meant
we no longer needed to hide how we felt for each other—or even attempt to. It meant
we could be together, whenever, wherever, without question.

Killian grinned and turned to enfold Tressa in his arms. Ronan pulled me around to
face him alone.

He sank to one knee with my hand between both of his. “Andriana, would you do me
this honor? Would you pledge me your heart, forever, as you already hold mine?”

I glanced to my parents. Dad had his arm around Mom's shoulders. She was crying.
But both were smiling, and I knew their blessing was ours.

“If you will pledge me yours,” I whispered to Ronan, tears slipping down my face
as such intense love from him surrounded me, enveloped me, and warmed me through.
“I will certainly pledge you mine.”

He rose and lifted me in his arms, grinning wider than any time I'd ever seen him
grin before.

“You, Bellona, shall be handfasted to Vidar,” the elder went on.

“Oh, no, Father,” she protested. “We cannot. There is no need . . .”

But he was holding up both hands to her and nodding. “Yes, you shall. I know as a
Knight that it seems ridiculous. But you shall draw attention to the others if you
are not . . . attached. We shall break the binding upon your return.”

Vidar, the scoundrel, was hiding a toothy smile behind his hand, grinning in victory
at her. I knew he had no more interest in her than she had in him, but he delighted
in teasing her.

“And Raniero?” the elder went on, after conferring with the oracle. “If Azarel is
to go with you, you shall do the same.”

Niero was visibly taken aback. Azarel wasn't even in the room with us—I'd heard him
ask her to go fetch Jorre, Socorro, and Dagan to speak with us. “Azarel?” he stammered.
I stared at him, eyes wide.
Now that might be a very complicated union.

“She will be a blessing and a boon to the Ailith, just as you are,” the oracle said,
and there was a tiny quirk to the corner of her droopy, aged lips.

There was one thing for certain—the ceremony on the full moon would be one the Community
would long remember.

CHAPTER
7

KEALLACH

W
here . . . is . . . she?” I ground out, studying my fingers splayed out on the marble
table
before
me. I was tired of it. So sick of their excuses. “Your spies told us that they have
returned to the Valley. I want to know specifically where she is. Can you not activate
her ID chip?”

“We can,” Sethos said in a measured tone. “But we've heard that some among the Trading
Union have a device to detect active chips. I thought it in our best interest to
wait until we're very close to retrieving Andriana before activating it.”

“I see,” I said, hiding my shame at not thinking of that myself. “Surely your trackers
can enter the Valley as they did before and give us some report?”

“No,” Sethos said, staring at me until I looked him in the eyes. “They cannot. The
Valley is far more populated now. And the team we sent in had only one survivor.”

“What? How is that possible? Your Sheolite scouts are the best trained men we have.”

“I am telling you, those in the Community are growing in force and daring. And now
they have the valley mouth watched by guardians—those wretched rebels. The Aravanders
are used to us and our methods. They have deadly aim and a decided ability to meld
into the forest when pursued, picking off those who follow.”

“It is time, Majesty,” Kendric said, crossing his arms. “We cannot allow them to
be so bold. I don't care if it's the heart of the Trading Union. Allow us to go in
there and cut down every one.”

“What? No,” I said. “The best sort of empire is a
willing
empire. If it comes to
war, so be it. But we shall try other methods first.”

Daivat tucked his head and moved toward the map, pointing to where the Valley lay
beyond the Great Expanse and the milder Central Desert. “They have already drawn
people from west and south. If there are others beyond them, to the north and east,
and they have the means to call upon their aid, they may become a more formidable
enemy than we thought possible.”

“They might not have been our enemy at all,” I ground out, “if you had allowed me
to see things through with Andriana rather than taking things into your own hands.”

The remaining men of my Council and Sethos all stared back at me, silenced for the
moment.

“I think we understand the price of our misjudgment,” Max said from where he sat,
propped up in his chair at the far end of the table, still looking thin and wan.

He and I locked eyes for a long moment, and I felt a stab of guilt before my carefully
controlled rage won out. Apart from Sethos, I felt his interference most keenly.
I kept renaming the act in my head. Betrayal is what I felt; interference is what
I chose to
call it. I constantly fought the desire to beat every one of them for
possibly ruining any chance I might ever have with Andriana, and beyond that, to
eventually be one of the Remnants. It had been such a tenuous hold I'd had, such
a whisper of a connection. But she had felt it and allowed it. I know she had. And
now that it was gone, I felt the grief of her loss just as I'd once felt it with
Kapriel.

Except it was different.

Harder even than my parting from my twin, in that she held my heart as both a woman
. . . and Ailith kin.

RONAN

I led Andriana to her room, and for a moment, just a moment, the hallway was empty.
She peeked inside, and we saw Bellona and Tressa, each unpacking their small bags.
Dri silently closed the door again and looked up at me. I grinned down at her, both
of us searching the other's eyes, so much of what we had to say unspoken, and yet,
in our touch, so clear. “I love you, Andriana,” I whispered.

She reached up and touched my face with her long, graceful fingers. I thought I could
spend days just closing my eyes and feeling her touch like that, and die a happy
man. “I know,” she whispered. “I love you too.” And the air around us felt almost
charged, as if I was supernaturally aware of every sound and smell, able to sense
everything with increased acuity.

With a quick glance left and right to see that we were still miraculously, blessedly
alone, I bent my head and kissed her. I thought I'd steal only one quick kiss, but
when she leaned into me, her hands against my back, I leaned in as well. She tasted
like the earth and sky—at once familiar and yet new too, calling me to
know her more.
Our kiss deepened, and I knew I should summon the strength to draw away but—

A hand on my shoulder brought my head abruptly upward.

Niero.

He was stern, yet not angry. “You are not yet bound,” he said, still holding my shoulder.
“And even afterward, you are to remain . . .
somewhat
chaste, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling the burn of embarrassment at my cheeks, as well as irritation
at his interruption.

“Good night, Andriana,” Niero said.

“Good night,” she returned, and I thought the blush on her own cheeks made her all
the more beautiful.

“Sleep well,” I said, feeling a roguish grin steal across my lips. I felt jaunty.
Romantically daring. And able to give into those feelings for the first time in my
life, because our plans had been blessed. We were to be bound within days, and married
in time.

Dri entered her room and softly closed the wooden door between us.

“Come,” Niero said, already moving away. “As much as that woman is on your mind,
you both are in dire need of sleep.”

I tore myself from Dri's door and followed Niero down the corridor. “How did Azarel
take the news?” I asked him, grinning a little to myself. Even the break in my kiss
from Andriana couldn't dampen the glory of this day.

“I haven't yet spoken to her,” Niero said, casting a scowl over his shoulder at me.

“Ahh,” I said. “Can I be there when you do?”

“No,” Niero said, his scowl now deepening. “And I'll thank you for not asking me
about it again. Azarel and I have . . . other plans that do not include binding.”
We turned another corner and, three doors down, entered a room that we were to share
with Killian and Vidar.

Killian rose and took my arm. “I owe you my thanks, brother. I had not the courage
or the thought to try. But when you did . . .” He cocked his head and grinned. “Thank
you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Vidar said, lying back on his cot and knitting his fingers behind
his head with a look of satisfaction. “I'm going to ride this train for some time
with Bellona.”

“Better not,” I said, sitting down on my cot to yank off my boots. “Or Bellona will
take apart that pretty face she's supposed to protect.”

Vidar frowned. “What? No. She loves me! Well, not in the way that Dri feels for you
or Tressa for Killian. But hey, maybe she'll come around and realize this stud is
the best she'll ever meet.”

“Even if you're three inches shorter,” Killian teased, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Hey, what I lack in height, I showcase in brawn and intellect,” Vidar said. He flexed
his arms while pointing at his temples.

“All right, all right,” Niero said. “Enough. There is time enough for such talk tomorrow.
For now, we rest.” He leaned toward the oil lamp on the table beside his bed and
looked around to see if we were ready. Apparently satisfied that we were close enough,
he turned the key, and the room was immediately encased in darkness.

Here, within the Citadel, behind so much rock, was the one place I knew I could trust
that Andriana would be safe. But still, my heart longed to be at her side. To be
taking her into my arms for another sweet kiss . . .

“Sleep, Ronan,” Niero said, the rustling of rough woolen blankets telling me he
was settling in beneath them.

I laughed under my breath. “Sure you're not a Remnant, Niero?” There was something
different about him that tugged at the edge of my memory. As if I'd discovered something
about him, but couldn't quite remember what it was.

“Absolutely sure,” he muttered.

I took a deep breath and huffed a “good night,” my cheeks hurting from all the smiling.
I didn't know if I had ever smiled so much in my entire life, but this idea that
I might make Dri mine, forever, was the greatest joy I'd ever felt.

I pulled off my shirt and then yanked my own blanket up to my chin, shivering a little
in the chill of the granite-bound room. For a moment, I wondered if sleep was possible,
but that was the last thought I had for many hours.

CHAPTER
8

ANDRIANA

W
e slept for the better part of three days. We'd awaken to eat and then sink back
into
sleep,
our eyelids too heavy to stay open. On the second day, they'd kept us up long enough
to receive our Zanzibian tattoos, ignoring our protests, so that there'd be enough
time to heal before we entered the city gates. As the tattoo artist embedded mine
with one painful prick of her needle and ink after another, her hand drifted lower,
to below my scapula. “What happened to you here?” she asked, running her fingers
over an old wound.

“Oh,” I yawned, glancing back. “I suffered some injuries in Pacifica. I think it's
been there since then.” I rolled my shoulder and felt a shiver run up my neck, remembering
Sethos, Maximillian Jala, and the creepy physician they sent to check me out. My
back didn't hurt at all compared to the cracked ribs I'd suffered, which still hurt.
My fingers moved to the
place that had hurt worst, and to the odd bump there. It
was like a tiny piece of bone had broken off. I could feel it just below the skin.
I sighed and dropped my hand, knowing that we all now carried bruises and scars from
the battles we'd endured, and there were bound to be more ahead.