Season of Glory by Lisa Tawn Bergren

valley. We could already hear the whirr of the approaching
bird’s propellers.
    We scrambled to find the nearest hiding places wherever we could. Vidar edged under
a thorny bush. The others went for the big, round boulders and crevices. Bellona
covered her exposed legs with sand.
    â€œDri,” Ronan said from somewhere nearby. “You clear? Out of view?”
    â€œYes,” I said, pulling my shoulder in a bit more.
    â€œEveryone be still,” Niero said.
    The bird buzzed over us, circled, and then returned. It seemed to be hovering above
us, searching, moving a few paces, and then scanning the ground below further. My
heart pounded, remembering how close the drone had come to me at the river near the
Aravander camp . . . and what followed. Would they spot some detail that would bring
Pacifican soldiers after us again? I couldn’t be captured again. Not after we’d
come so far.
    Home , I thought. I just want to be home. In the Valley. To rest. Recover. Before
taking on the next fight. Please, Maker, I prayed. Protect us. Shield us.
    After several long, agonizing moments, the bird flew off. Gradually, we all emerged.
It was with some relief that we saw it followed the dusty plume of the Jeep, now
in the distance, rather than returning to Pacifica. With any luck, we hadn’t been
discovered.
    â€œThey’ll think our driver is a Drifter,” Vidar said, half in admiration of the smugglers.
“That’s why he changed into those clothes. And with such meager cargo, even if they
detain him, they’ll have no reason to arrest him.”
    â€œThink he’ll return for us?” Bellona asked with little hope.
    â€œI think we’re more likely in for a long walk,” Niero said.
    â€œHey, but we’re more than halfway,” Vidar said cheerfully.
    We all turned doleful eyes toward him.
    â€œIt’s better than a quarter, right?” he said.
    â€œWe’ll spend the afternoon in the shade,” Niero said, “preserving our energy and
not getting too dehydrated. We’ll walk when night falls.”

CHAPTER
6
    ANDRIANA
    W e circumvented Castle Vega by a wide margin to the north, and then Zanzibar a couple
of
days
later. I practically started running when we crossed the river that led toward home.
Recognizing it, we picked up our pace. We knew that by nightfall we’d surely reach
the mouth of our valley. A fine mist had covered us since morning—and I welcomed
it. After so long a time in the desert, the smell of water on my skin and leather
made my heart sing. But it did make the dirt a bit heavier to plod through, which
slowed our progress.
    As we passed the first pines, I reached up and ran my hand through the long needles,
inhaling their scent as we walked. Even that seemed to strengthen me, giving me the
will to continue to put one foot in front of the other though I was so very weary.
I remembered the last time we’d returned here and how I’d slept for most of two days
and awakened to learn of my parents’ disappearance. I glanced ahead to them, saw
Dad’s arm around Mom, and shivered.
    Ronan edged nearer and interlaced his fingers with mine. We brought up the rear of
our party, and in the gathering dark, no one was likely to see us. “Smells like home,”
he whispered.
    I smiled at him. Between the scent of his damp coat and the trees, if I closed my
eyes, we might have been three years in the past, waiting for our trainer to arrive.
And in that one action—taking my hand—I felt as if he’d chosen to believe me, forgive
me, trust me again, regardless of what Chaza’el had foreseen. Regardless of what
I had allowed to happen with Keallach.
    Ronan tightened his grip on my hand. “What is it?” he asked, pulling me closer to
whisper, his dark brows knitting together.
    Belatedly, I understood that, through our touch, he’d felt what I had, in thinking
of Keallach. I’d cast my emotions into him.