Before he had cleared the ranks separating them, a hand reached Shion’s shoulder and his brother hooked him into a brotherly embrace, clapping his back hard. He gestured for Shion to accompany him and the two departed back toward the dais. With the king claiming his brother, the rest melted away. There was a wooden screen behind the throne and Shirikant steered his sibling toward it, the two escaping out the back of the hall.
Phae looked at the Seneschal’s face. “Could he really see us?”
“Yes. He did notice us, though his imagination will taint the memory. He will come back and look for us again. He’ll spend a good part of the night searching the crowd. He won’t tell anyone, because he’s not certain what he saw. But we came here for a clue to the riddle you seek. As we follow them behind the screen, they will not be able to see us. Observe. Listen. This is an important night. A crucial one for what it sets in motion. Follow me.”
He escorted her to the decorated screen and it felt as if they were walking the aether. No one got in their way or even seemed to notice them. Behind the screen was a dark, heavy curtain, blocking the room beyond. They crossed it without rustling the fabric at all, which Phae did not understand. It felt as if they became smoke for a moment and just wafted past, reminiscent of Kiranrao’s powerful sword.
There was a council chamber behind the screen and curtain, with a long waxed table surrounded by twelve chairs, six on each side. Each chair was meticulously carved, sanded, decorated, stained, and polished. Along the wall were a window seat and a mountain of books that filled bookshelves almost as high as the ceiling. Books crowded the room, of various sizes and thickness. She saw Shirikant at the window seat, a heavy book in his lap, flipping through some pages while Shion paced near the table loaded with fruit, cheese, and wine. There were seven others in the room, many with the same regal-looking faces, and there was a Vaettir among them as well as a Preachán. A hulking Cruithne guarded the door on the other side of the room.
Shirikant set the book down on the window seat next to him and faced his brother. “You picked a brooding song tonight, Brother. This was supposed to be a celebration.”
“Paideia is dead,” Shion said darkly, not turning to meet his brother’s eyes.
“What? I noticed that I hadn’t seen her tonight, but I assumed she was in the crowd.” He stood, his expression turning to shock and sadness as well. “What happened?”
Shion fingered a goblet, but he did not raise it to his lips. He let out a bitter sigh and then rubbed his eyes. “Marq and Tenblec are also dead. The rest survived the woods.”
Phae’s blood went cold. Was he talking about the Scourgelands? His voice was full of sadness and weariness. He looked weather-beaten and exhausted.
“I am so sorry, Isic. Paideia was your mentor. She trained you in the Druidecht lore. When I sent her on this quest, it was to continue your training as well. I trusted her and I respected her. She was a gracious soul. What happened?” He stood and went to his brother, gripping his shoulder to comfort him.
Shion’s expression seemed to soften a bit. Phae could see the brothers were close. Even more, they were friends.
“We searched deep into the woods,” Shion said. “Trails and clues existed, but they were mixed and difficult to spot. It seemed we kept getting turned around. But I persisted, knowing that we’d face difficulty before success . . . just as you’ve always taught me. It took a little while before I noticed the butterflies. They were so blue, a startling blue.”
“Go on,” Shirikant said, his eyes suddenly eager. His mouth twitched with interest.
“It felt like they . . . were summoning me? I can’t describe it.” He steepled his fingers over his mouth, looking vacantly at the floor. “The butterflies led us to a gulch. It was dark and muddy, roots clawing at our hair. But at the end of the gulch, we found a tree.”
Shirikant’s eyes were guarded. He kept his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And?”
“It was not the tree you’re looking for,” Shion said flatly. “It was beautiful and pale, with thousands of blue butterflies instead of leaves. There was spirit magic guarding it, Brother. There was a pond . . . a brackish pond. The tree was in the middle of the pond and the gully water seemed to fill the pond, which was stagnating. I recall you telling me that the tree we seek has a river coming forth. This tree seemed to be drawing certain elements of the forest to it. There was nothing but the fouled waters, the gully, and the myriad butterflies. Paideia went into the waters and approached the tree, saying she had found our goal. She’d found the tree of Mirrowen. The tree with the fruit that grants immortal life. I warned her to stay back, but she wouldn’t heed me. She approached the tree, telling me she could see the fruit.” He shrugged helplessly. “I could see no fruit on that tree at all. But she went closer, sloshing and splashing. I had a terrible feeling. I was excited, of course—we all were. But something felt wrong. I warned her again, but again she would not heed me and she went to the tree. I saw her reach up and pluck something from a lower branch. I could not see what it was, but I saw the blue wings of a butterfly on it. She took a bite. Then she died.”
Phae looked at the Seneschal’s face. “Could he really see us?”
“Yes. He did notice us, though his imagination will taint the memory. He will come back and look for us again. He’ll spend a good part of the night searching the crowd. He won’t tell anyone, because he’s not certain what he saw. But we came here for a clue to the riddle you seek. As we follow them behind the screen, they will not be able to see us. Observe. Listen. This is an important night. A crucial one for what it sets in motion. Follow me.”
He escorted her to the decorated screen and it felt as if they were walking the aether. No one got in their way or even seemed to notice them. Behind the screen was a dark, heavy curtain, blocking the room beyond. They crossed it without rustling the fabric at all, which Phae did not understand. It felt as if they became smoke for a moment and just wafted past, reminiscent of Kiranrao’s powerful sword.
There was a council chamber behind the screen and curtain, with a long waxed table surrounded by twelve chairs, six on each side. Each chair was meticulously carved, sanded, decorated, stained, and polished. Along the wall were a window seat and a mountain of books that filled bookshelves almost as high as the ceiling. Books crowded the room, of various sizes and thickness. She saw Shirikant at the window seat, a heavy book in his lap, flipping through some pages while Shion paced near the table loaded with fruit, cheese, and wine. There were seven others in the room, many with the same regal-looking faces, and there was a Vaettir among them as well as a Preachán. A hulking Cruithne guarded the door on the other side of the room.
Shirikant set the book down on the window seat next to him and faced his brother. “You picked a brooding song tonight, Brother. This was supposed to be a celebration.”
“Paideia is dead,” Shion said darkly, not turning to meet his brother’s eyes.
“What? I noticed that I hadn’t seen her tonight, but I assumed she was in the crowd.” He stood, his expression turning to shock and sadness as well. “What happened?”
Shion fingered a goblet, but he did not raise it to his lips. He let out a bitter sigh and then rubbed his eyes. “Marq and Tenblec are also dead. The rest survived the woods.”
Phae’s blood went cold. Was he talking about the Scourgelands? His voice was full of sadness and weariness. He looked weather-beaten and exhausted.
“I am so sorry, Isic. Paideia was your mentor. She trained you in the Druidecht lore. When I sent her on this quest, it was to continue your training as well. I trusted her and I respected her. She was a gracious soul. What happened?” He stood and went to his brother, gripping his shoulder to comfort him.
Shion’s expression seemed to soften a bit. Phae could see the brothers were close. Even more, they were friends.
“We searched deep into the woods,” Shion said. “Trails and clues existed, but they were mixed and difficult to spot. It seemed we kept getting turned around. But I persisted, knowing that we’d face difficulty before success . . . just as you’ve always taught me. It took a little while before I noticed the butterflies. They were so blue, a startling blue.”
“Go on,” Shirikant said, his eyes suddenly eager. His mouth twitched with interest.
“It felt like they . . . were summoning me? I can’t describe it.” He steepled his fingers over his mouth, looking vacantly at the floor. “The butterflies led us to a gulch. It was dark and muddy, roots clawing at our hair. But at the end of the gulch, we found a tree.”
Shirikant’s eyes were guarded. He kept his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And?”
“It was not the tree you’re looking for,” Shion said flatly. “It was beautiful and pale, with thousands of blue butterflies instead of leaves. There was spirit magic guarding it, Brother. There was a pond . . . a brackish pond. The tree was in the middle of the pond and the gully water seemed to fill the pond, which was stagnating. I recall you telling me that the tree we seek has a river coming forth. This tree seemed to be drawing certain elements of the forest to it. There was nothing but the fouled waters, the gully, and the myriad butterflies. Paideia went into the waters and approached the tree, saying she had found our goal. She’d found the tree of Mirrowen. The tree with the fruit that grants immortal life. I warned her to stay back, but she wouldn’t heed me. She approached the tree, telling me she could see the fruit.” He shrugged helplessly. “I could see no fruit on that tree at all. But she went closer, sloshing and splashing. I had a terrible feeling. I was excited, of course—we all were. But something felt wrong. I warned her again, but again she would not heed me and she went to the tree. I saw her reach up and pluck something from a lower branch. I could not see what it was, but I saw the blue wings of a butterfly on it. She took a bite. Then she died.”
