Season of Glory (27 page)

“Not that they'd appreciate that,” Bellona said, shoving a bite between her lips.

“I don't know if you can judge such things. You've never kissed me,” he said, pretending
hurt. “Your own bound husband.”

“Nor shall I ever.”

“So you say, now. I keep telling you that our handfasting could be so much more.”

“Vidar,” she growled.

Ronan squeezed my knee under the table, and I shared an intimate smile with him.
As much as Bellona and Vidar were bound for protection only, our own promise held
the hope of so much more. I couldn't wait for the day when I could give myself to
him, holding nothing back. But both of us wanted to wait. To honor the Community's
customs and the elders' request that we remain chaste.

Just five seasons away,
I thought wistfully, with an inward sigh. I inhaled and caught
the scent of Ronan, all clean soap and pine and leather.
That's not helping, Dri,
I told myself, forcing my thoughts to other things.

We had a war to win first. A war to survive. I looked around the table at all the
faces I loved most—every one of
the Remnants, the Knights, the elders, and at the
far end, my parents. If any of them died . . .

That thought snapped me out of any romantic notions.

My eyes slipped back to Keallach, in halting, uneasy conversation with his brother.
They were making headway together, but it was painfully slow and awkward. And I didn't
blame Kapriel for his caution. As loving and giving as he was inclined to be, his
twin had hurt him in horrific ways. Had robbed him of his parents. His throne. His
future.

But Keallach was trying so hard. And his total breakdown in the hallway that pivotal
day seemed to signal the turning tide or the beginning of something much bigger.

Moreover, it was their mirrored emotion that made me think that the twins might eventually
find their way back to each other.
Hope
peeked out from behind the shadowy curtains
of fear. That was the chief emotion I sensed from both of them, and that built hope
within me too.

A commotion at the entrance gradually drew the attention of everyone in the hall.
Eight large men, looking larger in their fur vests, entered the room in pairs. In
the back was a couple I didn't know, about my parents' own age.

“Dri,” Ronan said, voice strangled, half rising. “
Dri
.”

My eyes focused on the first man's face. The beard had made me pass him over on my
first glance, but there was no hiding his identity the second time I saw him. I let
out a cry and scrambled off the bench, rounding the table and hurtling myself down
the aisle, launching myself into his arms, laughing, laughing so hard I was crying.

He'd bent, arms open, and lifted me, turning me around in a circle as I kissed his
cheek and he kissed mine.

It was our trainer.

The man responsible for preparing Ronan and me for all we'd endured and encountered.
The man responsible for saving our lives, time and time again.

Ronan grinned and clasped arms with him, but then moved past him. Puzzled, I watched
as he went to the couple at the end of the line. The woman put her hand to her mouth,
and her eyes streamed with tears.

“His parents,” my trainer said, nodding after him. His arm was draped around my shoulders,
warm and reassuring, and his joy equaled mine. After my parents and Ronan, and now
the Ailith, there was no one more important to me than this man. And I'd been so
afraid he'd been killed the night of our Call, the night when our parents and guardians
and trainers were supposed to slip away to new communities, in case the Sheolites
tracked us to their doors. His arm fell from my shoulders, and he squeezed my hand.
“Go to them,” he urged me lowly. “I know you must. There will be time enough for
us to catch up.”

I looked up at his grizzled face. He wasn't handsome. His skin was pockmarked around
the new beard, his hair receding. But he was beautiful to me. Always a perfect mix
of challenge and encouragement, sometimes pressing me on when necessary, sometimes
holding me close and shoring me up. I couldn't wait to find out what these last months
had been like for him. But he was right—my place was with Ronan. Meeting my new kin.
As part of our safety precautions, I'd never met them, and he'd never met mine until
the night he came to claim me.

Feeling unaccountably shy, I eased toward the trio. His father caught sight of me
first, and Ronan and his mother parted slightly to welcome me.

“Mother, Father,” Ronan said proudly, “I'd like you to meet my Remnant, as well as
my handfasted bride, Andriana of the Valley.”

His mother sucked in her breath over his words, then hurriedly smiled, as if embarrassed
over what might be perceived as a slight. I knew she couldn't be truly pleased over
our early vows—she hadn't been here to witness what had necessitated it. So I set
it aside as she took my hand in both of hers, raised it to her lips to kiss it, then
cupped my cheek. “A daughter,” she breathed. “And so beautiful,” she said, glancing
over her shoulder at Ronan. “Clearly, you have much to tell us.”

His father was moving in to greet me too when we heard the first alarm bells. It
took a moment to register what we were hearing. Men and women were rising and running
to the door before it became clear.

“Attack!” shouted a man at the door. “Attack! Everyone to their stations!”

Ronan took my hand and said to his parents and our trainer, now at his elbow, “Follow
me!”

We heard a blast and then felt the repercussion down the passageway as we ran, pausing
to reach out and steady ourselves as gravel and dust filtered down around us. Then
another blast rang out.

“They're trying to destroy the cavern entrance!” Ronan ground out. He paused to put
his parents in our room. “As soon as Dri's parents arrive, close this door and bolt
it, understand? It will withstand much,” he said, patting the iron door. All the
Remnants had reinforced doors to their rooms, which at first I'd thought was overkill.
Now, with the enemy potentially at our door, I thought it exceedingly wise.

“What about you?” his mother cried, clinging to his hand.

“We must go to the others,” he said. He pulled her close, kissed both her cheeks,
and drew away.

“We'll be back,” I found myself promising, even though I knew I had no business doing
so. “Our reunion has only just begun,” I added, forcing a grin. Perhaps a lie was
what we both needed in the moment.

“Come, Dri,” Ronan urged, pulling me away.

“Wait for my parents before you bar the door!” I cried. “They know to come here!”

His mother and father nodded just as Ronan pulled me around the corner. We met with
our trainer in the passage, with the rest of his men hovering over his shoulder.
“What is the protocol?” he barked, hearkening me back to countless drills with him
in the forest.

“We are to convene with the other Ailith on the third level.”

Our trainer turned to his men. “Two of you remain here at the door. See that it is
sealed, with all their parents inside, before you leave it. Then go to support those
at the Citadel entrance.” He turned back to Ronan. “Lead us on.”

We ran up circular stairs to the next level, and then the next, pressing our backs
to the wall to allow men carrying an injured woman, pierced by bullets to her shoulder
and belly, pass us by. Tressa ran after them, with Killian just behind. “We'll meet
you there if we can,” he called over his shoulder.

As we got nearer to the alcoves that allowed Citadel defenders to fight off attackers,
we could hear the thrum of a helicopter—or two?—the constant drum of gunfire, and
the dull sound of bullets against stone. My arm cuff sent waves of cold and heat
through me. We passed the first alcove and glimpsed men and women hiding behind stone
barriers, waiting for the
gunfire to abate so they could return fire. I felt their
terror and prayed for safety for us all.
Maker. Shield us!

I wanted to curse the helicopters for the unfair advantage they seemed to give our
attackers, the insurmountable strength it felt like they leveraged from it.

In times of stress, rely on what you know to be true, not what you feel,
I reminded
myself before Niero could when we found him alongside the others. He gave me the
slightest nod, clearly approving, and I smiled, feeling ridiculously proud of myself
at a moment when I needed to be thinking forward, not back.

But you are thinking forward,
he silently whispered to me.
What we learn from the
past influences our future.

Right
, I returned, focusing on Keallach and Kapriel, who were laying out a plan on
the ground, sketching and taking turns talking. It was wondrous, watching them excitedly
work together, their minds seeming to click faster than ours could. Each built upon
the other's last thought, forming a plan of counterattack. I tried to swallow, my
mouth dry. I felt the growing silence all around among the Ailith, our trainer and
his men, and the few elders who had congregated here so far.

Because what we were witnessing was what the Maker had clearly ordained.

Twins, meant to work together. Brothers, meant to rule together.

Because together, they were stronger. Each at his best.

Gradually, they came to the end of their planning and became aware of all of us,
looking on in silence. I could read them both, so clearly. Keallach looked up and
around at each of us, a tad defensive, as if bracing for reprimands. Kapriel was
experiencing an odd mix of excitement, pleasure, and embarrassment. Because his brother
proved useful? Because he allowed him in?

Keallach rose slowly and waited for Kapriel to do the same. “Is it a good plan then,
brother?” he asked, reaching out an arm.

Kapriel paused. “It's a good plan,” he said, pausing for a telling moment before
taking his arm. “I mean, if all the rest of the Ailith agree,” he added belatedly.

But I knew what my brothers and sisters knew—as Niero knew—that we were destined
to follow them, together. As they explained where the helicopters were—two on the
broad face of the Citadel wall, one over by the entrance, shooting anything that
moved—we agreed that we would once again have to find a way to take them down. I
groaned, inwardly. Undoubtedly, that would involve encountering some pretty scary
heights. I prayed my part could be played out with my feet on solid ground at all
times.

I needn't have worried.

We were heading out, our plan to begin with Kapriel taking down the helicopters
by calling upon the wind again, when two bombs entered through two alcoves, one on
either side of us. The force of their explosions sent me flying, and I rammed into
a wall, my shoulder and temple hitting with such force that I couldn't breathe for
long moments after I opened my eyes and fought to see anything in the dust-filled
cavern.

The candles had been snuffed out with the explosion. The only light was the dim remains
of the day, shining in streams from the alcoves. I could make out bodies. So many
bodies.

And then I felt the chill of my arm cuff. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

Sheolites.
Trackers
, I amended in my mind, feeling the pinch of ice-cold that could
only mean that dark ones on the level of Sethos and his companions approached.

Some of our Knights were struggling to their feet. Ronan unsheathed his sword, alongside
our trainer. Niero already stood, moving forward, a curved blade in either hand.
Vidar and Bellona were still trying to rise.

There were sounds of gunfire, but it seemed like it was from a great distance. Or
as if I had mounds of gauze in my ears, plugging them up.

“Dri,” Keallach said, pulling at my arm and lifting me. “Come on. We have to move.”

I allowed him to help me, watching as Kapriel did the same with Chaza'el. There was
more machine gunfire. The constant
rat-a-tat-tat
that sounded more like
buh-uh-buh-buh
now in my ears.
The explosion
, I understood dreamily. It had hurt my ears. Muffled
them. And my head . . .

“Ow!” Kapriel said as we passed him. He reached for his arm cuff just as I felt the
wincing cold too. His wide eyes met mine.

It was worse than it had been in the tunnels of Pacifica. I turned, fumbling for
my sword and struggling with the sheath strap that held it in place. My fingers didn't
seem to work as terror seized me.

“He's coming,” I said to Kapriel.

Keallach paused. “Who?”

Without the arm cuff, he didn't know what we knew. Our enemies had infiltrated the
Citadel. They were here. And close. I was sure of it. “Sethos,” I said. “And other
trackers.”

Right then, we saw the light before us cut off repeatedly and heard new gunfire.
An arrow shot past us, against the back wall, and splintered. Then another.

“Ronan!” I cried, intending to go after him.

“Dri!” Keallach grabbed hold of my shoulder, stepping before me, protecting me,
and trying to see what was
happening without putting himself in the line of fire.
We heard the clang of swords. The grunts and muttered words of men in battle. My
hearing was returning, but with it a terrible ringing . . . and an ache so fierce
I fought the urge to sit down and cradle my head between my hands.

Keallach stiffened, and he hurriedly grabbed my elbow, turning me in the other direction
as he reached for his brother. “This way!” he cried. Vidar and Bellona were beside
us. I looked over my shoulder for Ronan and began to pull back to wait for him when
I saw what had alarmed Keallach. Two figures in red cloaks exited the first alcove
tunnel, following four Sheolite scouts who glanced down at the devices in their hands
and looked our way. I recognized one of the tall figures as a tracker from the Pacifica
tunnels. The other was clearly of similar stature. How had they gotten past Ronan
and our trainer? Niero?