“Take him!” Tyrus ordered, charging himself. Phae scrambled to her feet, rushing at the fearsome man.
Everything went black. All light was suppressed. It was as if a thick vapor had suddenly appeared, so thick that the air was heavy with a metallic taste.
“I can see you all well enough.” The Arch-Rike’s voice ghosted through the vapor of darkness. “I can see you too, Phae.”
“Say nothing!” Tyrus shouted. “Aran, are you free?”
“Your eyes won’t harm me in this,” he said menacingly. “Hold my hand, girl. We will go far away. I am the true Seneschal. I will take your oaths.”
I’m here, a woman’s voice whispered to Phae’s mind. She could feel the Dryad’s presence behind her.
Phae began to tremble all over, feeling the blackness coil around her, threatening to smother her in darkness. She could not breathe. She could not call out to anyone. The Dryad stepped in front of her. Phae heard the swish of an arm, a blade, and she felt the Dryad stiffen.
The darkness vanished, drawn back into an obsidian gem fastened to a clasp on the Arch-Rike’s cloak. The clasp had opened and the cape tumbled to the ground. As it left his shoulders, the Arch-Rike’s countenance changed again. It was as if a peel had been removed—a flower bud opening in the spring dawn to reveal the truth. It was a man’s face, young in years but stern and serious, handsome and rugged with swirls of gray through the tufts of thick hair. His look and bearing, even the line of his jaw, was Aeduan, except his features were stronger, nobler. Though he was comely and tall, the face was pocked not by scars, but by a deep, deep anger—a blistering fury that was both savage and composed. One of his hands bore a knife, which he had just plunged into the Dryad’s heart, thinking she was Phae.
Their eyes met. Phae gripped his gaze, clung to it with all her force. There were so many memories in that gaze, a thousand lifetimes. It was vast beyond reckoning, but somehow her Dryad magic encircled it, billowing to the edges of infinity to snare them all. His eyes widened with panic.
And then the man was gone, pulled away by the Tay al-Ard before she could blink.
The Dryad turned to Phae. Not a mark was on the woman’s skin where the dagger had struck. She was visible for only a moment after the darkness had dispelled, and then she vanished. Tears of gratitude sprang to Phae’s eyes when she realized the knife wound from Shirikant had almost killed her. If the Dryad had not stepped in the way . . .
Tyrus reached and closed his hand on Phae’s shoulder. He hung his head a moment, and then struggled to speak. His face was ashen with worry. “Almost we failed,” he whispered hoarsely. “Who freed you from the webs, Phae?”
“I got myself loose. It all happened so fast.”
“We must flee,” Tyrus said. “Quickly, before the Arch-Rike arrives with others to destroy us here. We know what he truly looks like now. We know how not to be deceived.”
“But did you notice,” Annon went on, “how much he resembles Shion?”
Tyrus gave Annon a bemused look, and then turned to Phae. “I think we all noticed that.”
Shion stood still, his expression already hard with earnestness. “I’ve seen that face before,” he offered. “Where, I cannot remember. But when his mask fell, I knew I had seen him. And loved him.” He sighed. “The truth comes in spurts, it seems. This is the land where all the secrets will be revealed.” He hefted his knife and then slid it into his belt. “I long for it now.” He gave Phae a dark look, one full of brooding and intensity.
With daggers in hand, they slashed through the strands of the Raekni webs, marching firmly toward the direction of the Mother Tree. Phae joined in the effort, knowing that each thrust, each cut, brought them nearer to the heart of the Scourgelands. After confronting such vivid darkness, she no longer feared it. Yet Phae’s insides were twisting and wrenching with growing agony. Using her powers had only awakened the pain again. She hunched over, breathing quickly, trying to master herself. They were so close to the end. She could almost hear the faint echoes of unsung music.
Shion charged ahead, slashing viciously at the strands to carve open the path ahead. Prince Aran and her father stayed at her side, each with a hand on her arms to help keep her moving quickly. Her shoulder burned from the savage bite of the Raekni, but that was the least of her problems and not as debilitating as the seed moving inside of her.
“This is the end,” Shion said, emerging into the dense woods into an area free of the Raekni webs. Phae felt relief at first, but her father’s expression forbade her from rejoicing.
Everything went black. All light was suppressed. It was as if a thick vapor had suddenly appeared, so thick that the air was heavy with a metallic taste.
“I can see you all well enough.” The Arch-Rike’s voice ghosted through the vapor of darkness. “I can see you too, Phae.”
“Say nothing!” Tyrus shouted. “Aran, are you free?”
“Your eyes won’t harm me in this,” he said menacingly. “Hold my hand, girl. We will go far away. I am the true Seneschal. I will take your oaths.”
I’m here, a woman’s voice whispered to Phae’s mind. She could feel the Dryad’s presence behind her.
Phae began to tremble all over, feeling the blackness coil around her, threatening to smother her in darkness. She could not breathe. She could not call out to anyone. The Dryad stepped in front of her. Phae heard the swish of an arm, a blade, and she felt the Dryad stiffen.
The darkness vanished, drawn back into an obsidian gem fastened to a clasp on the Arch-Rike’s cloak. The clasp had opened and the cape tumbled to the ground. As it left his shoulders, the Arch-Rike’s countenance changed again. It was as if a peel had been removed—a flower bud opening in the spring dawn to reveal the truth. It was a man’s face, young in years but stern and serious, handsome and rugged with swirls of gray through the tufts of thick hair. His look and bearing, even the line of his jaw, was Aeduan, except his features were stronger, nobler. Though he was comely and tall, the face was pocked not by scars, but by a deep, deep anger—a blistering fury that was both savage and composed. One of his hands bore a knife, which he had just plunged into the Dryad’s heart, thinking she was Phae.
Their eyes met. Phae gripped his gaze, clung to it with all her force. There were so many memories in that gaze, a thousand lifetimes. It was vast beyond reckoning, but somehow her Dryad magic encircled it, billowing to the edges of infinity to snare them all. His eyes widened with panic.
And then the man was gone, pulled away by the Tay al-Ard before she could blink.
The Dryad turned to Phae. Not a mark was on the woman’s skin where the dagger had struck. She was visible for only a moment after the darkness had dispelled, and then she vanished. Tears of gratitude sprang to Phae’s eyes when she realized the knife wound from Shirikant had almost killed her. If the Dryad had not stepped in the way . . .
Tyrus reached and closed his hand on Phae’s shoulder. He hung his head a moment, and then struggled to speak. His face was ashen with worry. “Almost we failed,” he whispered hoarsely. “Who freed you from the webs, Phae?”
“I got myself loose. It all happened so fast.”
“We must flee,” Tyrus said. “Quickly, before the Arch-Rike arrives with others to destroy us here. We know what he truly looks like now. We know how not to be deceived.”
“But did you notice,” Annon went on, “how much he resembles Shion?”
Tyrus gave Annon a bemused look, and then turned to Phae. “I think we all noticed that.”
Shion stood still, his expression already hard with earnestness. “I’ve seen that face before,” he offered. “Where, I cannot remember. But when his mask fell, I knew I had seen him. And loved him.” He sighed. “The truth comes in spurts, it seems. This is the land where all the secrets will be revealed.” He hefted his knife and then slid it into his belt. “I long for it now.” He gave Phae a dark look, one full of brooding and intensity.
With daggers in hand, they slashed through the strands of the Raekni webs, marching firmly toward the direction of the Mother Tree. Phae joined in the effort, knowing that each thrust, each cut, brought them nearer to the heart of the Scourgelands. After confronting such vivid darkness, she no longer feared it. Yet Phae’s insides were twisting and wrenching with growing agony. Using her powers had only awakened the pain again. She hunched over, breathing quickly, trying to master herself. They were so close to the end. She could almost hear the faint echoes of unsung music.
Shion charged ahead, slashing viciously at the strands to carve open the path ahead. Prince Aran and her father stayed at her side, each with a hand on her arms to help keep her moving quickly. Her shoulder burned from the savage bite of the Raekni, but that was the least of her problems and not as debilitating as the seed moving inside of her.
“This is the end,” Shion said, emerging into the dense woods into an area free of the Raekni webs. Phae felt relief at first, but her father’s expression forbade her from rejoicing.
