His eyes shone with intensity, his frown a sign of dark strength. “I trained to protect Tyrus’s daughter.” His gaze met hers and she felt a shiver run through her. “To give my life so that she might reach the center of that hideous maze. I gladly step aside, relinquishing that role to someone better suited than I. Many of you have asked me why I wear these black robes. The answer is simple. To better understand the cunning mind of our enemy, the Arch-Rike. Like Tyrus, I suspected Lukias was a traitor among us. I did not recognize that he was the Arch-Rike himself. Because of that betrayal, I suspect each one of you of deception. I will be watching you closely. Expect that.”
Kiranrao snorted. “This speech is supposed to help us trust one another? Even black hens lay white eggs.”
Aransetis frowned at the comment, but Tyrus held up his hand. “Have a care, Kiranrao. We just watched the Thirteen of Canton Vaud get murdered by the Arch-Rike and we took the blame for it. Trust is improved when we understand one another’s motives. Prince Aransetis is explaining his rather candidly.”
“And so are you?” Kiranrao challenged.
“You heard my speech to the Thirteen,” Tyrus replied heatedly. “My motives have ever been the same. The Arch-Rike ascribes it to a lust for glory and fame. As you no doubt have realized, we will get very little of that if we succeed. Khiara—what about you?”
The Vaettir girl did not raise her eyes but continued to stare down at her hands. “A Shaliah is a healer. My purpose is to keep you all alive. Had I been there, Declan would have survived and you might have made a different decision.” She sighed, her voice trailing off very softly. “I go where my cousin goes.”
Phae saw the unmistakable flush in the girl’s cheeks and her heart throbbed with pity. Khiara was in love with her cousin, Prince Aransetis. It was painful to look at, for it reminded her of her own feelings for Trasen. As a Dryad-born, she had erased all of Trasen’s memories of their time together because the Arch-Rike was using him to hunt her. Khiara’s feelings were simple and uncomplicated.
But Phae could see that Prince Aransetis did not reciprocate them. His jaw clenched at her mumbled words, his stern expression becoming even more so.
“Thank you, Khiara,” Tyrus said. “We are grateful you are with us. Without you, we cannot succeed.” He said a few words in the Vaettir tongue, which Phae could not understand. Khiara sat as still as a stone, saying nothing in return.
“Annon.”
The young Druidecht was only a little older than Phae, but he seemed to have aged in the hours since the destruction inside Canton Vaud. He had connected with a Dryad in the woods of Silvandom and her tree had been destroyed by the Arch-Rike shortly after the death of his masters—the Thirteen. He absently stroked the fur of a spirit creature nestled in the grass next to him, a big cat named Nizeera.
“My mother was Merinda Druidecht,” Annon said in a hoarse voice. He gazed around the fire at each of them. “For years I believed that Tyrus was my uncle. I thought he abandoned me in Wayland to be taught by a mentor because he was ashamed of me. I’ve learned that he was only trying to protect me, that Kenatos is a prison, and he was a prisoner.” He snorted with disdain. “I am here because the Arch-Rike must be stopped. I seek his downfall. He knows about the Plague and its source. There is a shrine . . . a sanctuary of some kind in the mountains north of the island city. He has stonecutters from Stonehollow working on the outer façade. As we learned from Tyrus this evening, there are Calcatrix in the Scourgelands—these are serpent-like birds that have poisonous claws and can turn you to stone if you look at them. Khiara and I faced them in the Arch-Rike’s secret temple, which he calls Basilides. The doorway inside Basilides leads into the Scourgelands. It may even lead into the heart of it.”
Tyrus held up his hand and made a gesture and Annon quieted. The young man sighed deeply, the expression on his face pained. “The Arch-Rike has struck me quite personally. He destroyed the Druidecht hierarchy. And he took someone from me as well.” His voice hushed as he mastered his emotions. Phae noticed a slight blue glow appear in his hands. “I will do whatever I must to defeat this man.”
The firelight was beginning to dim, but Tyrus did not feed it with another log. He turned his face to the Romani girl, Hettie. She was looking at Annon with softness and compassion.
“Why am I here?” she said with her particular accent. She reached over and took Annon’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is my brother, if you did not already know. We are the twins of Merinda Druidecht. I was raised by the Romani.” Her voice did not betray any emotions, but Phae noticed that she had chosen her words with care. “Though now I no longer wear a hoop in my ear. I seek my freedom. I seek a change in the order of things. I am a Bhikhu in training.” She glanced over at Paedrin, giving him a slightly mocking smile, one that shared many memories.
Kiranrao snorted. “This speech is supposed to help us trust one another? Even black hens lay white eggs.”
Aransetis frowned at the comment, but Tyrus held up his hand. “Have a care, Kiranrao. We just watched the Thirteen of Canton Vaud get murdered by the Arch-Rike and we took the blame for it. Trust is improved when we understand one another’s motives. Prince Aransetis is explaining his rather candidly.”
“And so are you?” Kiranrao challenged.
“You heard my speech to the Thirteen,” Tyrus replied heatedly. “My motives have ever been the same. The Arch-Rike ascribes it to a lust for glory and fame. As you no doubt have realized, we will get very little of that if we succeed. Khiara—what about you?”
The Vaettir girl did not raise her eyes but continued to stare down at her hands. “A Shaliah is a healer. My purpose is to keep you all alive. Had I been there, Declan would have survived and you might have made a different decision.” She sighed, her voice trailing off very softly. “I go where my cousin goes.”
Phae saw the unmistakable flush in the girl’s cheeks and her heart throbbed with pity. Khiara was in love with her cousin, Prince Aransetis. It was painful to look at, for it reminded her of her own feelings for Trasen. As a Dryad-born, she had erased all of Trasen’s memories of their time together because the Arch-Rike was using him to hunt her. Khiara’s feelings were simple and uncomplicated.
But Phae could see that Prince Aransetis did not reciprocate them. His jaw clenched at her mumbled words, his stern expression becoming even more so.
“Thank you, Khiara,” Tyrus said. “We are grateful you are with us. Without you, we cannot succeed.” He said a few words in the Vaettir tongue, which Phae could not understand. Khiara sat as still as a stone, saying nothing in return.
“Annon.”
The young Druidecht was only a little older than Phae, but he seemed to have aged in the hours since the destruction inside Canton Vaud. He had connected with a Dryad in the woods of Silvandom and her tree had been destroyed by the Arch-Rike shortly after the death of his masters—the Thirteen. He absently stroked the fur of a spirit creature nestled in the grass next to him, a big cat named Nizeera.
“My mother was Merinda Druidecht,” Annon said in a hoarse voice. He gazed around the fire at each of them. “For years I believed that Tyrus was my uncle. I thought he abandoned me in Wayland to be taught by a mentor because he was ashamed of me. I’ve learned that he was only trying to protect me, that Kenatos is a prison, and he was a prisoner.” He snorted with disdain. “I am here because the Arch-Rike must be stopped. I seek his downfall. He knows about the Plague and its source. There is a shrine . . . a sanctuary of some kind in the mountains north of the island city. He has stonecutters from Stonehollow working on the outer façade. As we learned from Tyrus this evening, there are Calcatrix in the Scourgelands—these are serpent-like birds that have poisonous claws and can turn you to stone if you look at them. Khiara and I faced them in the Arch-Rike’s secret temple, which he calls Basilides. The doorway inside Basilides leads into the Scourgelands. It may even lead into the heart of it.”
Tyrus held up his hand and made a gesture and Annon quieted. The young man sighed deeply, the expression on his face pained. “The Arch-Rike has struck me quite personally. He destroyed the Druidecht hierarchy. And he took someone from me as well.” His voice hushed as he mastered his emotions. Phae noticed a slight blue glow appear in his hands. “I will do whatever I must to defeat this man.”
The firelight was beginning to dim, but Tyrus did not feed it with another log. He turned his face to the Romani girl, Hettie. She was looking at Annon with softness and compassion.
“Why am I here?” she said with her particular accent. She reached over and took Annon’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is my brother, if you did not already know. We are the twins of Merinda Druidecht. I was raised by the Romani.” Her voice did not betray any emotions, but Phae noticed that she had chosen her words with care. “Though now I no longer wear a hoop in my ear. I seek my freedom. I seek a change in the order of things. I am a Bhikhu in training.” She glanced over at Paedrin, giving him a slightly mocking smile, one that shared many memories.
