Season of Glory Read Online Free Page B

side.
    Cyrus shook his head, and I could see the tears in his eyes. “This is not what the
king and queen wanted for Pacifica. It’s not what the Maker wants. But you have to
know . . . neither Keallach nor the Council was fully informed on facilities such
as these.” He paused. “I mean, I knew they were out there, that it was where we sent
the unclaimed children. But we thought . . .” He swallowed hard and tried to gather
himself. “We thought they were more . . . humane. It was only recently that I investigated
it for myself.”
    I swallowed hard, again, and stared at them all. Hundreds of miserable, young souls.
I thought of Palace Pacifica and how Keallach was so proud of his reconstructed buildings.
Had those stones been hewn by slaves such as these? How could he not have known?
    Or had he?
    It just wasn’t possible. That he’d known. He couldn’t have deceived me so.
    He was imperfect, yes. But there was good in him, I thought.
    I felt the heat of Ronan’s stare and glanced his way. There was a measure of triumph
in him, gloating, as well as anger that made the muscles in his jaw twitch. It made
me angry in response. We had no time for petty jealousies!
    I took a breath. Ronan would remember that I loved him, in time. For my own part,
I needed to get over my irritation at his childishness. I focused on the workers
below again.
    â€œWe need to free them,” I said to Niero.
    â€œWe do,” he said evenly. “But not now. If we free them now, Pacifica will know exactly
where we are and will capture us within the day.”
    My eyes returned to the misery before us. If Kapriel and Chaza’el and Tressa were
here, we’d have the collective power to level this camp, to take down the guards
one by one.
    A young man about our age said something to the guard I was eyeing, appearing to
ask a question. The guard wheeled about and sneered at him. We all stilled as the
man’s hand went to his whip and casually pulled it from the strap at his belt. He
ran his fingers over the coils as he circled the boy, whom another guard forced to
his knees.
    Dimly, I heard Niero muttering prayers to the Maker to intervene, to stop the guard,
to still his hand and put the whip away. As he prayed, I felt my thumping heart slow
and a peace wash over me. Below us, the guard with the whip looked up, as if he’d
heard something on the breeze. He stiffened and then turned partway around, then
back, as if arguing with himself about what to do next.
    Niero was still praying, hands cupped open, head bowed. The guard gestured with the
whip to the boy, and with eyes wide, the young man rose and walked away, looking
over his shoulder with fear. The two guards exchanged heated words, nearly coming
to blows for a moment, but then the second one backed away, shaking his head. He
called out to the gathered kids, who were watching it all unfold, and gestured for
them to disperse. But instead they formed into lines and headed toward the long,
narrow buildings that I assumed were their barracks.
    I turned to Niero and blinked several times, laughing under my breath. He had a slightly
smug, sly smile on his face. “I think they’re calling it a day,” he said.
    I laughed with him and shook my head. It was perfect. The only solution. Thank you,
Maker, for guiding him, I prayed silently. For guiding us all. Show us how we help
free these children. Soon. We wanted to get out of Pacifica alive, but I knew we
couldn’t forget what we’d seen.
    We wound our way out of the canyon, quiet and each lost in our own thoughts. Any
good humor we’d had over the guard’s “intervention” was soon lost to the overwhelming
burden we’d just taken on. I thought about the young man, so narrowly saved from
what I assumed would have been a brutal whipping. If we hadn’t been there . . .
    But we had. At just the right moment. No matter how hard it was to observe, it was
what