Season of Glory (16 page)

We were pressed to face the walls, our hands on the rough adobe brick above our heads,
the guards' hands searching and locating each sword, knife, gun, lance, whip, arrow,
and axe upon us. I grit my teeth as the guard next to me took overly long with Andriana,
searching the long lengths of her legs. “Get it over with, man,” I spat out, “or
I shall come and find you later.”

“Careful,” sneered my own guard, taking a handful of my hair and yanking my head
back, “it's a capital crime to threaten a Zanzibian guard.”

“Thankfully, I don't answer to anyone but the Maker.”

The man stilled, and the other took a halting breath. Here in this city, too, the
Maker's name had long been taboo. But it had the desired effect; they left Andriana
alone and shared a long look, as if debating what to do in response.

“Come along,” called the chief guard. “Inside with you. Stay together. Two by two.
Men in formation, with your women behind.” To the guards as they passed by, he said,
“Never take your eyes off of them, you hear me? Trust them not for a breath of time.
If they are who they say they are . . .”

We left him behind and trudged inward through lush desert gardens, full of perfectly
formed cacti and palms, all set in ovals filled with white rocks. Ahead, the palace
entrance loomed, with multiple balconies on either side, each covered with swooping
canopies to guard those who lounged below from the sun. Though the sun had long set
by now, people were on each
balcony, watching us, covering their mouths as they spoke
about us in undertones.

Two massive wooden doors—twice as tall as I—opened, a servant standing beside each
one, at attention, and another wordlessly turning apparently to lead us on. We progressed
inward across polished concrete floors, past cavernous rooms that spoke of wealth
and privilege, and a shiver ran down my back as I remembered the last palace I had
been in—Keallach's home. Would the Lord of Zanzibar prove as formidable a threat
as our lost brother?

Perhaps more so,
I thought grimly. At least Keallach was Ailith at the core of him,
and was bent on winning Andriana, if not the rest of us too. This one ahead . . .
Who knew what drove him?

The guards herded us up several flights of stairs and into the throne room at the
end of the hall. We could see a man in a fine robe, chin in hand, staring out the
window. On either side of him was a man, one younger, one older. Beyond them were
women in a group, all dressed in fine gowns and huddled together, whispering behind
their hands to one another as they perused every one of us from head to toe. The
rest of the cavernous room was empty, save a dais and three ornately carved chairs.

We were set into a line, side by side, and then forced to kneel. It felt wrong, vulnerable—alarm
bells ringing in my head as a Knight—but then I knew this was the only way. We couldn't
win over the Lord of Zanzibar by physical might. The Maker had led us here. And now,
unbelievably, I knew he bade me to stay on my knees.

Only when we were all kneeling did the lord turn and eye every one of us. He was
younger than I expected—no older than his third decade—and handsome in a slight,
refined way. His skin was smooth, but his eyes . . . his eyes were hard. They glinted
as they landed on Tressa.

“
You
,” he spat out, striding toward her. His male companions—advisors, I assumed—flanked
him. “You dare return to my city?” I stiffened, as I'm sure Killian did. How did
he manage to stay in place when the warlord threatened his Remnant?

But Tressa didn't flinch. “We came to aid your son,” she said, her voice high and
clear. “The Maker has sent us.”

The man's eyes, cold as granite, slid over the rest of us. “The fabled Remnants and
their Knights, willingly surrendering to me?” he asked, crossing his arms. “You think
I would trust you with my child? You left my city in tatters the last time you departed.
Spreading lies about healing those with the Cancer when we all know it is incurable.”

“They are not lies,” Tressa returned, with a shake of her head. “The Maker saved
many on that day. As he can save your—”

The lord slapped her savagely before any of us saw it coming. Killian growled and
began to rise, but two men behind him shoved him back to his knees. I reached out
and grabbed his arm, steadying him, encouraging him to remain down.

“No one speaks that name in this city,” sneered the lord, leaning down toward her.

“That is unfortunate,” she returned evenly. “Because it is only by
that
name that
your son shall live to see tomorrow.”

The lord straightened and looked down his nose at her. “How is it that you know I
have a baby son? It has not been announced. Only my closest advisors and these ladies
know of it, and they have been in my presence since the child was born only hours
ago.”

“I could have been a day's journey away, and I would have known you had a baby son
with an ailing heart.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know it is his heart?”

“Because the One I serve told me. He has prepared me to heal your child, if you will
allow me to do so. My fellow Remnants will aid me.”

“I can't allow that,” he scoffed, making a face. “What rumors would that begin? That
I allowed the very girl who escaped my walls, the one who refused to become one among
my treasured harem, to march into the nursery to try her healing arts on my son?”

“If you wish for your heir to live, then yes,” she returned.

“Are you threatening my child?” he cried, leaning closer again. I could feel Killian
tense beside me.

“No, Majesty. I am
warning
you. The babe has but hours left.”

“Impossible,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “I have the finest physicians in the
city attending him this very moment.”

“And they shall not save him,” she said. “There is a hole in his heart. That is what
likely took your other children too.”

“And how do you know of
them
?” he asked, his voice high and crazed. “It is
you
,”
he spat out, inches from her face. “You've cast some sort of spell upon my children!
Cursed them!”

“No,” Tressa said. “The only curses upon this house and this city are those that
you and your father and your forefathers have welcomed in.”

“She speaks lies,” said one of the lord's advisors, edging forward.

“Hang them all at once, and be done with them,” said the other. “Pacifica will be
in our debt.”

“Except for the girl the emperor seeks,” said the first advisor, moving down the
line until he stopped before Andriana.

It was my turn for my fists to clench. It took everything in me to remain on my knees.
“Keallach will no longer be interested in Andriana,” I said. “He wanted her as his
wife, but she is my—”

“And this one,” sniffed the other, stepping toward Kapriel and ignoring me. “The
lost prince. There is a ransom upon your head, Highness, as well as the green-eyed
girl. One that will be good for the coffers of Zanzibar.” He laughed under his breath,
his eyes holding no true mirth. “Imagine such prizes walking right through your gates,
m'lord. The emperor will reward you in more ways than one if we deliver these two
back to Pacifica and be done with the rest.”

“You shall not do that,” Tressa said, rising to her feet.

I resisted the urge to close my eyes as I waited for the lord to strike her again.

“I shall do whatever I wish,” he said, incredulous, “
girl
.”

“But you won't. Because you want your babe to live. To grow fat and take his first
steps and giggle when you make a face at him. You want him to learn what it is to
run a city and deal with politics. You want to know what it is to be a father of
a living child, and not simply a father with one more tiny casket in his cemetery.”

A flash of pain crossed his face as if she'd struck him.

“The Maker has healed many beyond those who have suffered from the Cancer here,”
Tressa said. “We have seen a crippled child's foot straightened. His grandmother
and a Drifter chief, both blind, now see. We have watched a woman on the verge of
dying from days of poisoning rise and walk again. On and on, this tapestry of healing
has been woven until now. Today. When the Maker has chosen your son to save, so that
you might know your Creator at last.”

The lord gaped at her, looking pale and confused.

“There is a way out of your distress, my lord,” Dri said from beside me.

“The child can live,” put in Chaza'el. “I have seen it. But only if you allow Tressa
to heal him.”

“Dare to risk it,” Vidar said. “Turn away from the dark ones who cloud your mind.”

“Why would we risk entering your city?” Niero asked. “And come straight to your gates?
Unless we could do as we say?”

“Silence!” cried the lord, turning away, his head between his hands. But I could
hear the choking sound and knew the Remnants had struck a nerve. He cared for this
child. Wanted him to live more than we might have believed. Needed his heir to live,
in this city full of sons.

His advisors shared a worried look. The older one said to the guards, “Take them
all to the wall, except for Prince Kapriel and the one they call Andriana. Take those
two to the dungeon.”

“No,” I said, on my feet, trying to get between Dri and the two nearest guards. The
other Knights were doing the same. One guard went to the concrete floor heavily;
I thought I heard Tressa cry out. But then more guards arrived, flooding the room,
overpowering us. Four men took me down, each sitting on an arm or leg. Killian was
still on his feet, wildly striking out.

“What is the harm in allowing me to try?” Tressa cried, her voice pure anguish and
terror as two guards dragged her from the throne room. “My lord, why not allow me
to try and save your child?”

She was at the door when the lord at last raised his head. “Wait,” he called, and
his voice rose above the rest of our clamor.

The guards stilled, and we all gradually looked back.

His advisors turned to him, their faces awash in fear and frustration.

“I will give the girl a moment with my child,” he said wearily.

“My lord . . .” began one.

But the lord raised a hand, silencing him. He looked at Tressa, and for the first
time I could see the lines of strain about his eyes and mouth. “Come,” he said, walking
past her.

She hesitated until he looked back at her, clearly agitated and perplexed. “We are
strongest together, my lord,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Your child
will have the best chance if all the Ailith are in attendance.”

His eyes hardened, and the muscle in his clenched jaw twitched. “You get one chance
at this, girl. If my child dies, so will all of you. Even those the emperor wishes
saved.” He waved his hand over us in a dismissive manner, and muttered toward the
guards as he passed, “Bring the whole lot of them. What does it matter?”

We filtered out into the hallway and down a side passage that led to rooms with a
more feminine touch. Where he kept his concubines, who were undoubtedly the single
biggest symbol of his wealth in this city so in need of women. In one room were five
of them, circled around a table, somberly sipping tea from delicate china cups. At
the end of the passage, in a room dark but for three candles, sat a woman quietly
weeping as she rocked a tiny babe in her arms.

Even I could feel the love this lord had for the woman—and the ache within him. It
took me aback. For all his power and wealth, he had no dominion over life and death.
It made sense that it was here that the Maker would pierce his heart.

The woman stared at us in confusion and pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, as
the lord came to stand beside her. She looked up at him and gave her head a small
shake of apology, as if warning him that there was no hope. The babe's time was short.
The child was quiet save tiny, frantic breaths. His eyes were closed; his skin fearfully
gray; his lips blue. Tressa went to the woman and knelt before her. “My lady, we
are the Remnants. And the Maker has sent us here to give you back your son.”

The pretty woman's eyebrows knit together, and she searched Tressa's eyes, as if
wondering if she could dare to believe. Then she looked to the Lord of Zanzibar in
alarm. It had to be Tressa's mention of the Maker's name. But when the lord did not
react, she searched the face of everyone else present and landed at last on Tressa
again.

“Please,” Tressa said, lifting her hands as if already cradling the babe. “May I?”

Swallowing hard, the young mother lifted the tiny boy up, kissed him on the forehead,
and then set him in Tressa's arms. She sank to the floor before her. “Please.
Please
.
I beg you to heal my son.”

Tressa looked into her eyes. “Believe, my friend. Today, the Maker shall restore
your son to you, whole.” She bent her head and began praying as the lady bowed low,
giving sway to deep sobs of both fear and fervent hope. The other Remnants put their
hands on Tressa's shoulders and arms as she began to whisper her prayers. We Knights
did the same, forming another circle, all praying that the baby would live, and
in turn, that his parents would believe. There was no fear within me. The Maker had
seen this, from start to finish. And he would not have brought us here, to face such
danger, unless he had a plan. A plan to grant life and hope and healing.

I awaited the child's hearty cry with such anticipation that it made my skin tingle
and my heart pound. Looking around, I saw that my companions smiled too, feeling
the same confidence. Vidar's eyes were wide, and he scanned the room. It was then
that I could feel what he so obviously could see—angels slipping between us, around
us, above us. Shivers ran down my neck and over my arms, and I wasn't even ashamed
of the tears that slid down my cheeks as Tressa lifted the baby upward. “You brought
this child into the world, Maker. We commit his life to you. Move within him. Knit
together whatever ails his tiny heart. Make him strong and whole. We claim your healing
power on this child, in your name, Maker. The One who was, and is, and is to come.”