“I … I threw it out there,” I said, gesturing behind me to the balustrade and the steep cliff beyond with one hand, feeling the quick pulse in his arm with the other. “The girl meant it as a gift, but I couldn’t help feeling that it was anything but. It reminded me too much of … Pacifica.”
He stilled and heaved a sigh of relief. “Right. Of course you did,” he said, lifting a hand to caress my cheek and smiling. “Such a wise, wise girl.” He leaned close and kissed my nose, then turned to walk away, bent on some new mission.
“Ronan?” I said, chasing after him. “What’s wrong?”
He stilled and looked back at me. “The enemy infiltrated the Citadel tonight,” he said.
My stomach tightened in terror. “What?”
“Those necklaces,” he said, glancing toward my chest, “they were like mini-drones. Tiny cameras, disguised in jewelry.”
“What?” I repeated, striding toward him, with each step understanding better why I’d felt the urge to throw the pendant to the rocks below.
He rested his hands on my hips and stared into my eyes. “They’ve been eradicated. Every one. The other woman’s. The two the men carried. The Pacificans … Keallach”—he shrugged slightly—“Sethos … who knows who is behind it. They’ve figured out that the power of the Way is growing. And the only way in is through those who are drawn to it.”
“So they used them,” I said, my eyes and thoughts distant, wandering toward the window and balustrade. “Allowed them to leave, to come here. As a method of entry. When they had no other methods.”
“Yes,” he said. “And now they’ve seen at least a portion of our fortress, our defenses.”
I swallowed hard, thinking about taking that necklace, where I’d walked, what I’d done before I threw it away. “Do you think they could only see? Or might they have heard as well?”
“Why?” he said, his fingers tightening at my waist. “Did you say something that might have compromised our security?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head miserably. “I didn’t say anything. I just helped them see the way to our very own quarters.” The thought of Sethos seeing me here, in the heart of our Citadel … I wrenched away and walked back to the tiny balustrade, looking out and over our Valley, so peaceful this night. So pristine. So … holy. Our sanctuary.
Yet, I felt invaded.
Ronan came up behind me and, sensing my tension, laid gentle hands at either hip, then waited.
After a moment, I took a deep breath and said, “You’re certain they had no idea what they wore?”
“No. Vidar would’ve known if they were truly spies. And you would’ve detected something within them too, would you have not?”
I considered that, and then finally, reluctantly nodded. I realized that I wanted someone to hold accountable.
“No,” I said. “I wish there was someone besides myself to blame, but there is not. Pacifica entered our gates, an invited guest for all intents and purposes. And now, we’ll have to live with the consequences.”
KEALLACH
I rewound the tape and stared at the footage from the necklace that had briefly been around Andriana’s neck. Still no sound. Only grainy images.
But she was there. In the Citadel.
Walking down the hall to her quarters—clearly shared with Ronan, judging by the masculine sweater cast over the corner of one of their beds, and the sword tipped beside the doorway—and then to the cliff face, where she stared at the pendant for a long moment, and then cast it away.
I watched every second of the footage again and again, searching for each detail I could find, of the Citadel for certain, but moreover, of her.
She looked well. Somewhat rested. Healed. Whole. Hopeful in one step, pensive in another. Curious and wondering as she peered down at the pendant and then pulled it from around her neck. I froze the frame just before she decided to toss it away, down into the abyss below, where the camera’s lens no doubt cracked into a thousand pieces. I stared at her face and recognized that look of curiosity and wondering and hope … until just before the moment I knew it dissolved into distaste and fear. It was a transition in her expression that I’d witnessed firsthand.
And it was one that I’d hoped to see eradicated from her memory forever.
It was wrong, so wrong, to see it in my beloved’s face.
She was to know only love, and peace, and security. This was my Call, from deep within. To make certain that all of my brothers and sisters felt nothing but those things. And yet it went beyond that when it came to Andriana. And Kapriel. To them, first, was I bound.
Whoever followed us, followed.
Or did not.
Andriana and my brother were everything to me. The last, true, possible links to the One that had ushered me into life and waited to walk beside me in the future. Without them, I was alone. Yes, yes, surrounded by many. Always so many. But yet still alone.
I needed them. Had to have them by my side. One way or another.
It plagued me that because of something Pacifica had sent, because of something that she had received, Dri knew anything but peace and joy. She had sensed distaste and a fear that drove her to toss the pendant from the cliff. And yet, if it took some pain, some discomfort, to bring her back to me, and behind her, my brother …
So be it.
Maximillian appeared in my doorway, silently awaiting orders.
“Now that our plan has been discovered,” I said with a sigh, “any element of surprise is lost to us.”
“Yes, but the footage is of use to us, Majesty. We’ve mapped much of the main floor of the Citadel.”
“And we know where Andriana’s quarters are,” I mused, reaching out to touch the screen.
“Indeed.”
“You’ve seen that things are in order for our new plan?”
“Yes, Keallach,” he said, coming to stand beside me, looking down at the screen. “All is in order.”
“Good,” I said, switching off the monitor. “Be ready at a moment’s notice. As soon as we find an opening, we move.”
CHAPTER
16
ANDRIANA
Niero and Cornelius bade us to forget what we’d learned of the pendants and the possible breach of security.
“Long has the Maker seen us here, in the Valley,” said Cornelius, laying a fragile, age-spotted hand upon my shoulder, “and long has he seen our enemies rise in the west. What will come, will come,” he said with shrug, willing courage to me that I felt. “We trust in his providence and what will transpire.”
“Even within the walls of Zanzibar,” I said, pulling one of the heavy shoulder straps of my pack up higher with one hand. As if saying it one more time would make it seem more reasonable. My eyes shifted to Tressa, who looked a bit wan, and to her grim-faced Knight, Killian. Even our handfasting and tattoos didn’t make this mission anything close to a tolerable risk. The Lord of Zanzibar would want our heads. And there were many other enemies within those towering walls. But Tressa also knew there was someone there she was to heal. We were counting on one lone person to somehow make a way for us to not only survive, but to turn some of the populace of the ancient, teeming city to followers of the Way.
Every time I thought about it, I knew it to be the Maker’s design. He wanted us to know that this wasn’t about us and what we could do … but what he could do through us if we totally submitted to his will. Clearly, we’d all felt this was his will for some time. In ways, it was a relief to finally be stepping into it, rather than thinking about it and worrying about it.
“Zanzibar,” he said, lifting one gray brow and quirking a sly smile. “If he sends you to such a place, then clearly those of us left behind have far less to be concerned about.”
“And yet that is not exactly the assurance we seek, Father,” Vidar cracked, walking past. “But thanks for the effort.”
I kissed Mom and Dad good-bye, focusing on the pride they felt as they looked upon me, rather than on their fear. We headed out and spent that fir
st night with Tonna, and then we carried on toward Zanzibar in the morning. There were ten of us—Ronan and me, Niero and Azarel, Killian and Tressa, Chaza’el, Vidar and Bellona, and Kapriel—but we planned to enter the city in groups of three in order to be less conspicuous. We’d discussed leaving Kapriel behind—those in power in Zanzibar might note his mirror image of Keallach, ruining our ability to hide—but in the end, we figured our time in hiding would be limited. And where the Remnants had been called, we were convinced we had to go together.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Vidar said as we neared the towering city gates. “We didn’t exactly leave through the front door last time.”
I swallowed hard. We were all thinking the same thing. We’d killed or injured a good twenty guards on our way out and rappelled off the far wall to escape. And this was the first place we’d ever encountered Sethos. I shivered at the memory. If Keallach could only see him as we saw him that day, fingers like talons, screeching like an unearthly animal closing in on its prey—us—might he see his trainer for who he truly was?
“I never intended to return,” Tressa said. “But the Maker has different ideas.”
“He usually does,” Niero said, edging past her. The afternoon was drawing to a close, and people were thronging toward the gates.
I knew we could all feel the pull of whomever we were here for, just as we had from the Citadel itself, but Tressa was excited beyond measure, hope and desire twirling inside her like a small tornado. It would be she who led us to the man or woman the Maker wanted us to heal … if she wasn’t recognized and arrested first.
We parted into our small groups, those who had never been in the wretched city divided among those of us who had. Kapriel was with Ronan and me. Chaza’el was with Niero and Azarel. Vidar and Bellona were with Killian and Tressa. We all rode mudhorses, intent on doing whatever the Maker would have us do here in this city, and then getting back to the relative safety of the Valley, even if we had to ride all night to do it. We allowed Tressa’s group to take the lead, but kept them in sight. Behind us was Niero’s trio. Once inside the city, the forward team would board their horses in the same stables we’d used last time and then allow us to keep them in sight as we searched for the Maker’s mission here.
“Easy, Dri,” Ronan murmured as we pulled to a stop, a hundred people ahead of us waiting to get past the guards at the gate. “Remember, the last thing they expect is for us to return.”
I knew he was right. But this whole blasted city smelled of the underworld. My mouth was dry; my stomach roiled. I fought off the urge to touch my shoulder, where the tattoo of the city was now embedded in my skin. I wondered if it would pass inspection. I wondered if they would believe that I was Ronan’s bound wife, or if—
“Hey,” he said, reaching out to take my hand in his. “Look at me.”
I turned to face him, his green eyes warm and reassuring. “We’re together,” he said with a shrug. “Sent here by the Maker. Who can come against us?”
Plenty, I wanted to say, but I knew what he was after. “No one.” I swallowed. “At least no one we cannot deal with.”
“That’s right,” he said, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his full lips. I looked down at our hands and wished we were back in the Valley with all that was familiar about us. Or in the stronghold of the Citadel. I wished our battles were over. I wished all of this was behind us, with not so much ahead, rising like a flash flood coursing down a streambed.
Andriana.
I whipped my head around, distinctly hearing Niero’s voice. But when I glimpsed him, there were thirty people between us, even though he stared directly forward at me.
Do not be afraid. You are a Remnant. Born for just such a time as this.
I laughed under my breath. I’d always wondered if he could read my thoughts since he often responded to me before I’d given voice to anything that was troubling me. It made sense that he could do so—and respond to me in kind.
I will take heart, my friend, I thought, hoping he could hear me. For you are with us, as is the Maker. Casually, I turned in my saddle and waited until I glimpsed him again. He was smiling.
And yet hadn’t Niero himself been taken captive? In Keallach’s desert monastery?
And did I not escape my captors?
I huffed a laugh. It was both captivating and aggravating, this inner dialogue.
“What is it?” Ronan asked me, shooting a quizzical look.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, shaking my head, as if I could dislodge Niero from my mind. “It seems I must learn some lessons, over and over again.”
“Some lessons are more challenging than others,” he said, “and have to be carved from stone rather than clay.”
“Agreed,” I said, after a moment. Ronan wasn’t one to often spout such deep wisdom, but what he said had been perfectly stated. And at that moment, I chose to act on all I had learned and move forward from there, rather than to backtrack. I want to be clay, not stone.
I set my mind and heart to the task at hand, gazing upward to the massive red walls of the ancient city, beyond the armed guards who patrolled there, trying to use the inner eye that Vidar could so easily capture in order to see both angel and demon. I thought I glimpsed a dark presence perched at regular intervals, almost like the gargoyles on palaces of old, but I wasn’t certain. When Vidar was within reach, I could more readily make such things out.
“Dri, keep your head down,” Ronan said, and I immediately bowed my head, aware that I’d appear brazen for a Zanzibian bride.
“Did anyone see me?” I whispered.
“Two guards above us are together, pointing at you and talking.”
A shiver of apprehension washed through me.
“They’re likely just remarking on your beauty,” he said, trying to ease my fear.
“With Tressa so near?” I scoffed. “I doubt that.”
I could feel his soft gaze on me, but I didn’t look at him, as I was unable to keep my eyes from the other guards ahead. “For as much as you understand what everyone feels, Wife,” he murmured, “you understand surprisingly little of what everyone thinks.”
I eyed him then, returning his soft smile. He was good at protecting me, in more ways than one.
He dismounted and then helped me down—not that I needed it. It simply was expected here. He took the reins of both of our horses, and we eased forward, funneling inward with the crowd until we finally stood between the two guards, following Kapriel.
They let the prince right through, but they slowed as they turned to us.
“Well, well,” said one, looking me over from head to toe. “This is a fine piece of woman flesh,” he went on, slowly trailing behind me as Ronan handed our papers to his companion. “Where do you hail from?”
I forced myself not to react or respond. It wasn’t the way of the women in this city. It’s not the way, not the way, not the way. The way for women here was utter subservience; they were as much livestock as humans to the men here.
“My wife and I are proud citizens of Zanzibar now,” Ronan said, the muscles at his jaw twitching as his eyes flicked to the other guard who remained behind me.
The guard leaned closer to me, taking my hair in his hands as if in a sweet caress, his breath drifting over my shoulder. It was surprisingly clean. “Ah, no. I would remember this one. And you. You’re a brute, aren’t you? But this one … your bride, you say? Gods, man, how did you get so lucky?”
“I don’t know,” Ronan said, his jaw muscle twitching, belying his tone. “Right place, right time.”
The guard’s left hand brushed my hair to one side, even as his right hand fingered the neckline of my tunic. Then, ever so slowly, he pulled the scooped neckline down over my shoulder.
My breath caught. I clenched my fists. His movements were not at all the casual check of a disinterested guard perusing his thousandth Zanzibian mark of the day. It was an invasion, designed to agitate Ronan and strike fear in me.
Remai
n still, Niero said to me, silently. It’ll be over soon.
I bowed my head, using everything in me to remain in place, playing my part. To not elbow the man in the belly, making him double over. To not then turn and knee him in the face.
“May we pass?” Ronan growled, taking one step toward the guard and me. The other guard stepped between us, unperturbed, looking at the papers in his hands. “We bear the city mark,” Ronan said. “All we wish is to get to our quarters. Unmolested.”
“Easy, there,” said the guard behind me as he ran his thumb over my tattoo. “It’s fresh, but it’s there,” he said to his companion. “It’s the true mark.”
“He bears it too,” said the other, glancing at Ronan’s tattoo and then back to the papers. He suddenly turned to me and lifted my chin. “Look at me, woman.” He leaned closer, still holding my chin, and said, “Where do you live in this city? Why do we not recognize you?”
I let my eyes lift to his and willed my heart away from fear and fury, transforming them into favor and protection. “We are new here. And we live along the Fifth,” I said gently, as we’d rehearsed, while sending those key emotions of grace into him. “In the old Kocho building. My husband purchased it for us as a wedding gift.”
His lips parted, and his eyes widened and then softened as my emotions shot through him as clearly as a sweetly poisoned arrow might. I held his gaze. A moment later, he abruptly clamped his lips shut and said, “It’s true. That old Kocho place sold weeks ago. Welcome home, fellow citizens,” he said, gesturing inward.
And then we were through. I was grateful to take Ronan’s hip with one trembling hand and walk in the odd Zanzibian way of couples, our stride in tandem down the street, the horses trailing behind us.
Kapriel sidled beside me. “Sorry you had to go through that,” he muttered, gesturing back toward the gates. “It was all I could do not to bring down a lightning bolt upon them.”
I smiled. “Glad you didn’t. That would have brought us some undue attention.”
“How did Azarel fare?”
“They didn’t give her a second glance,” he said, “after seeing Niero.”
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