Read Online Season of Glory by Lisa Tawn Bergren - Free Book Online

surrounding trees glowed with their golden light.
I knew that the Aravander guards behind us would send word if a drone approached.
For now, it was just us—Community, gathering—and it made my heart swell with joy.
Some began to sing, and the sound of their combined voices, encapsulating us when
we did not have the strength to join in, nourished me from within. Vidar and I shared
a look—this was good, so necessary, so vital for us. To be with others of the Way.
To feel their joy from the outside in. We had been away too long.
    We reached the Citadel and slipped between the edges of the deep crevasse that led
into the fortress carved from rock. There were hundreds of people inside this time,
and it transformed the structure from a cold cave to a comforting palisade against
the dark. We were led into the hive-like meeting room, where every seat was filled
and even more stood, as if they’d been awaiting us for weeks. And perhaps they had.
Asher and Azarel, Chaza’el, Kapriel, Killian, and Tressa were among them, grinning
and rushing to hug us.
    Everyone in the room applauded, and I blushed at the attention. It was rare for
praise and adulation to happen within the Community for anyone other than the Maker.
But here, now, all I felt was the comfort and approval of our brothers and sisters.
And it was glorious. Vidar reached out and wrapped one arm around my shoulders and
the other around Bellona’s waist. One by one, we interlocked, we Remnants and Knights,
and grinned up and around at the people in this room. Those of the Valley, Drifters,
Aravanders, people from Georgii Post, and even Castle Vega. Everywhere we’d gone,
it was clear that the Maker had used our presence to call his people home.
    Finally, they all grew quiet, and someone brought us chairs, as well as water and
meat and even a bowl of rice. We gratefully ate and drank, taking turns sharing our
story with them all. For hours, they sat, so silent and still, hanging on our every
word.
    â€œAnd now? Where does the Maker send you next?” asked one elder.
    â€œTo Zanzibar,” an old, sightless elder said, with a mixture of distaste and wonder
on her wrinkled face.
    Chaza’el started in surprise. “That is right,” he said firmly, with a nod.
    Reluctantly, I knew it was true, deep within.
    â€œBut there are inherent dangers in going there,” Niero said, “that we hope you can
help us mitigate, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers. We narrowly escaped
with our lives last time.”
    â€œYou’ll need papers,” Jorre said with his big, booming voice. He lifted a hand and
twisted his lip, dismissing our worries. “I can speak to Tonna about it.”
    â€œOr simply a tattoo,” added a woman, pulling down her tunic to show the mark on her
shoulder that every Zanzibian was required to have.
    â€œThey will help, but we’ll need more than that,” Ronan said, rising to his feet.
“The women among us, warriors though they may be, are in distinct danger there. Any
woman who is not betrothed in the City of Men becomes ten times the target. The Lord
of Zanzibar prides himself in collecting women for his harem. But I have a solution.”
    I held my breath as he glanced at me. I’d had no idea he planned to speak.
    â€œI am well aware that it has been forbidden for the Ailith to love beyond the ways
of kinship. I understand we must remain true to our calling and mission, first and
foremost, and there has been concern among the elders that anything else would distract
us from that calling and mission. But the Maker has carved something much deeper
in my heart for Andriana, and I publically declare now that I intend to have her
as my wife. Whether you bless our union now or in the future, we shall one day be
together.” He looked only at me as he said it.
    I stared at him in shock. And in joy. Could it be? Was he making a way for us? Or
destroying any hope we ever