Season of Glory (24 page)

No. I must be away. Someone is with me. He'll get me safely to the Citadel.

He was then silent. Because he was busy killing Sheolites and demons? Dark angels?
Were all trackers really dark angels in disguise? Something told me that Sethos would
have used his skills of persuasion to bring others along his dark path, and I shivered
again.

Keallach moved closer, wrapping me more tightly in his arms. “Dri—”

I squirmed away. “Don't do that. It's too . . . intimate.”

I felt his irritation, his frustration, even without touching him.

“I only meant to keep you warm. To comfort you,” he said.

“Well . . . don't. Just get me back to the Citadel alive, will you? It's the best
thing you can do for me. I think Niero will get Tressa and all the rest of the Ailith
back to the fortress as soon as he can.”

He paused. He knew what I also knew, that to return was to face judgment for his
escape. He would have to admit he had used his gifting—limited as it might be—to
bring down his guards in order to do so. Even though he'd used the opportunity to
come to our aid, how would the elders react? How would the Ailith respond?

“Come,” he said, lacing his fingers around mine. “The faster we can get away from
this place, the better. Can you see anything? Anything at all?”

“The spiritual realm, nothing more.” I winced, feeling a chill enter my armband.

Keallach paused, contemplating. “That won't help you avoid rocks on the path.”

“No, it won't,” I said, my heart beginning to pound as I recognized this particular
degree of cold.

“Will it help you escape a tracker?” asked a man from above and behind me, startling
us both. Keallach whirled, and I could hear the sound of a sword exit its sheath,
even as Keallach shoved me behind him.

“Dri, give me your sword,” Keallach hissed. “I am unarmed.”

“What about two trackers?” asked an idle voice, again, behind and above me.

My heart stopped. I'd know the silky undertones of that voice anywhere.

Sethos.

I could imagine his dark wings, massive and wide, as he descended. His dark eyes,
squinting as they focused on me.

Maker! Raniero! Help us! Sethos is here!

I could hear the crack of branches and cones as both dark beings alighted.

“She communicates with our enemy,” Sethos sneered. “Stop her from doing so again,
would you, my brother? I will address the emperor.”

“Get back,” Keallach said. “I am no longer one with you. I will not return!”

“Silly boy,” Sethos said, clearly advancing upon him from the front. “I ought to
kill you for betraying me.”

A hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist, wrenching me away from Keallach. It was the
other dark one. I screamed. Such frigid cold entered my arms where he gripped me.
This was the source of my shivers . . . not terror, not my blindness! The Maker had
been trying to warn me, sending my arm cuff into warning chills. The power in Sethos's
companion was lethal. I felt as if I was choking, my very insides turning to ice,
my lungs crystallizing bit by bit . . .

Dimly, I heard the
whoosh
and
thunk
of a big arrow, then another, and felt my adversary
shudder. He'd been hit. But still he held me. Black rage flooded from him, engulfing
us both, further choking me. And yet in that moment, I felt the old doorway open.
That space that held so much curiosity for me. The space I'd come close to before.
Could I dominate it now? Conquer it? I felt dizzy with the rush of promise the thought
brought to me.

In my mind, I edged closer to the doorway, feeling the flutter of wings entering
and exiting. The darkness was pulling at me, enticing me, wrapping tendrils around
my neck, my arms, my back.

I needed no breath. I was beyond breath. Above breath.

I needed no warmth. In this space before me, in the cold, was peace and security.
Constancy. Had we had it wrong all this time?

Whispers filled my ears. From far away, I felt my body lurch, hold, and lurch again,
but it was as if it was happening to someone else.

This way, this way, this way . . .

Come inside. Come with us. Come. Come. Come.

No, Andriana! Break free. Break free of him! You are nearing the door of death!
Turn away, sister. Dig deep. Remember the truth. The truth, Andriana!

Come . . . sister. You are so weary. You've fought for so long. Lay down your sword.
Know the security we can offer you.

Truth
. Niero's word came back to me. I circled it in my mind, as if it was spelled
out in giant, stone letters, and I could run my hands over the T, the R, the U .
. .

That is not the way,
said the voices, so soothing, so welcoming. Filling my ears.
Blocking Niero's.
This way . . .

But my mind kept turning back to the word that gripped me, as if I were a ship chained
to an anchor that both held me captive and kept me safely moored in the harbor. I
ran my hands over the next letter in the word I needed . . . desperately needed for
some reason. The final T. The H . . . I envisioned
truth
engraved upon rock. Rock.
Stone. So much like . . . what? Memory tugged at me and then eluded me, over and
over. What was it that I was supposed to remember?

This way. Enter in, sister. This is where you belong. This is where you all belong
. . .

It came to me then.

Stone . . . like the Citadel's granite.

The Citadel.

The Community.

The Way.

The
Maker
.

Power surged through me. I turned, took hold of the tracker's wrists, got a foot
up against his thigh, then the other against his belly. I bent him in half and then
launched him backward, away from me, cutting off his foul, dark funnel and his link
to my soul.

I gasped, feeling as if I'd just narrowly escaped drowning and crawling across the
forest floor, anxious to put any inch of space I could between me and the dark angel
who had almost conquered me. Pinpricks of heat began to poke across the skin of my
arms, bringing life back to limbs that felt dead.

Andriana,
Niero's thoughts fairly screamed at me.
Chaza'el has seen. Vidar knows.
We are coming.

CHAPTER
26

KEALLACH

I
watched with some amazement as the tracker fell to the ground, away from Dri, and
she
turned
and crawled away, her face horribly pale. But she was alive and away from him, which
brought me a huge measure of relief.

With Dri a safe distance away, Aravander arrows rained down from the branches above,
piercing the tracker's chest again and again, driving him backward, farther away
from Dri. But he still managed to keep his feet. And no arrow came in Sethos's direction.
Because of me? Was I in the way? Or had Sethos erected some sort of shield of protection
around himself that he hadn't thought to offer his companion?

We circled, my old trainer and I. The one who had taught me to wield a sword for
the first time. To feint and strike, pierce and block. I'd long been a decent sparring
partner for him. But I'd never bested him. We'd parried and practiced for years.
We'd
even practiced this particular play, preparing to accomplish what we both wanted.
And yet . . . now . . . I wasn't sure it was what I wanted at all.

The first arrow struck near him, sticking into a huge pine, bouncing from the reverberation
of impact.

Sethos lifted a hand without looking, closed all five fingers around a single point
in the air, and then flicked his fingers to one side. An Aravander cried out, rotating
several times in the air before landing just steps away from Andriana.

“Come now, Majesty,” Sethos said soothingly, playing the part, doing nothing but
protecting himself from my wavering sword. “This folly is over,” he said. “You tried
to join the Remnants and found out what I told you all along—they won't accept you.
They left you in chains, vulnerable, even as we swept in, did they not? We can make
amends after we put down this Union rebellion together. Look. Andriana is within
reach even now. We'll take her with us.”

I shivered, feeling the pull of his promises, promises that preyed upon my own desperate
hopes.
My sister,
I reminded myself.
My sister.
What would I do for my true sister?
What might I have done for my twin? What would that relationship be like now, if
I'd chosen a different path long ago and not listened to Sethos? I struck out with
renewed vigor, irritated that this rehearsed play now felt desperately wrong. “I
am done with you! Done with Pacifica! I am where I belong! I will prove myself to
them in time.” The words came easily . . . as if I meant them.

His eyes narrowed, and he blocked my fourth strike and turned, easily avoiding my
fifth. “Look,” he said, nodding over to Andriana, who scrambled through the drifts
of rust-colored needles, as if looking for something. “Just say the word, and I shall
pick her up and get you both back to safety. All can be as we
imagined. With you
two united, the entire country is ours. These battles, these deaths, and those to
come? They will be over. You can save your precious Remnants—and more.”

His words infiltrated my mind, and my heart swayed again, to the other side. Andriana.
Together with me. Safety for the rest. Peace. That had been the plan all along. Why
must this cursed Call confuse me so much? I wanted to drop my sword and press my
hands to the sides of my head.

“I am not going anywhere with you,” Andriana said, lifting a bow, one lone arrow
nocked across the string. She was trembling, her eyes clearly still blinded, but
she cannily pointed it directly at Sethos.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “I thought you could not see,” he sniffed.

“My earthly eyes are blinded,” she said, “but I can clearly see those of the light
. . . as well as those of the dark.”

She let loose the arrow.

I agreed with her. We wouldn't go with him. We belonged here. Here.

But neither could I let Sethos die.

I lifted a hand and shoved the arrow from its track through the air, and it swerved
to sail beside my trainer's head and past us.

A tiny smile edged the corners of his lips, his thanks silent.

My savage anger returned, and I heaved my sword and struck at him three times in
quick succession, driving him backward.

He held my last strike, our blades crossed above our heads. “Are you becoming confused,
Majesty?” he whispered, concern knitting his brow. “It was bound to happen, spending
time with so many of the enemy these last hours.”

His fatherly tone grated against me like tiny pebbles biting into my skin. “Stop
it!” I hissed, whirling and striking again, this time with an edge. “Quit working
your spell upon me.”

“Spell?” he said, pushing away my blade and striking back at me for the first time,
squinting at me. “There is nothing happening here that you do not want,” he growled
so that only I could hear.

“What I want? Or what
you
want?” I whispered back.

He paused. “Remember our plan, Keallach. Stay true. It is for you that I do this.
It is you I serve.” There was pain, now, in his eyes. That edge of betrayal again,
making me falter. Was I born to disappoint everyone around me?

I pushed Dri's next arrow aside as well.

“Keallach!” she cried. “Did you do that?”

“I will take care of him,” I grunted, driving Sethos backward. His red cape got tangled
between his legs, and he narrowly kept from falling by dodging right, pushing off
a tree, and wheeling to my other side.

“She can be your bride,” Sethos said lowly, his soothing tone back in place. “Isn't
that what you've wanted most? One of the Remnants at your side, forever?”

How many times had he placated me, persuaded me, with that tone?

“She is Ronan's bride.” I said half-heartedly. But in saying it, I found a bit of
strength. And as I moved forward, against him, more strength welled up within me.
Surged within me. This was the right way.

He had confused me. Mastered me. But the Maker was fighting back . . . reclaiming
me. Power ran through every muscle and sinew of my body. I was faster than ever before.
Stronger.

“Majesty,” Sethos bit out when I nicked his neck. His eyes narrowed. “
Majesty
.
. .”

But never had my feet felt more grounded. Never had my energy remained true. Never
had my eyes been more quick, my
movements more fluid. Was this what it felt like
to fight for the One who had created me?

“She is not to be mine, Sethos,” I said, striking again and again. “She is my Remnant
sister, nothing more.”

Sethos let out an unearthly screech, breaking up my holy rhythm. He seized upon my
momentary confusion to leap forward, pressing me backward until my boot heel caught
on a log and I stumbled. He leaped and sent me sprawling, my sword flying from my
hand. He grabbed hold of my collar and twisted it until I couldn't breathe. “You
fool
,” he said. “She is handfasted, not bound by forever vows. I doubt they've even—”

An arrow thrust through his back, the bloody tip exiting his chest. Then another.
His face turned into a frightening grimace, then pure rage, and he flung me back
to the ground and straightened, breaking the tip off the first arrow as he did so,
then wrenching it through as he turned. I gaped at his strength, his tenacity, even
wounded. And I faltered, wondering if I'd ever escape him, ever be free of the many
bindings he had around my mind and my heart.

He was heading toward Dri. And while she should have turned and run, she kept drawing
one arrow after another, driving them into Sethos.