Erasmus rubbed his mouth. “Along with our likely demise,” he muttered. He sighed heavily. “You could have warned us, Tyrus.”
The Paracelsus smiled smugly. “I did when we first met, old friend. But you wanted to make a difference in this world. You have ambitions of making it a more just and equitable place. Not to mention this would be the greatest political upset in a thousand years.”
Annon stared at the platter of food and realized how famished he was. Tyrus watched him begin to devour the meal. He looked calm and peaceful. The frantic edge in his eyes had been replaced by a look he could almost call tender.
“So what do I even call you?” Annon asked at last, unsure of his own feelings. “You are partly my uncle. Partly my father. Partly a total stranger to my family. What are you to me?”
“You may call me whatever you like. There is more to family than just blood. Is there anything else you would know of me?”
Annon thought a moment. “My mother. What became of her?”
Tyrus pursed his lips. “When I returned to the stone hovel later, I learned of her death. Her madness made her unleash the flames in their full power. The roof burned and collapsed. The fire could not harm her. A wooden beam did. The villagers were unnerved that her skin was not burned after the blaze ended. They realized she had the fireblood. When I came back, they tried to kill me.”
It sickened Annon to hear it. “You always warned me to tame my anger.”
Tyrus smiled weakly.
“What is your plan then? Where do we go from here?”
Erasmus stood and began pacing again, looking around the room. He quickly counted on his fingers. He held up his hand to preclude either of them from talking. “Silvandom,” he announced triumphantly. “You told Hettie to meet you in Silvandom at the prince’s manor. She was to fetch the blue stones from Kenatos that will find your daughter. Given how long it would take to walk there, fetch the stones, and return, she could be arriving as early as today.” He beamed triumphantly.
Tyrus nodded. “She arrived last night with Paedrin. They were brought under escort to the prince’s manor where they slept. As soon as you are both done eating, we will join them. I will tell them the truth as well. Paedrin’s master was one of my allies in Kenatos, but he never knew the whole truth. The Arch-Rike will be working against us. He will marshal all of his power to try and stop us.”
Erasmus looked thoughtful. “A formidable enemy.”
“So am I,” Tyrus replied, rising from the table.
“Men go abroad to gaze at the enormity of mountains, the huge waves of the sea, the long courses of the rivers, the vastness of the ocean, the circular motions of the stars, but they never stop to gaze at themselves. While this is true of most men, it is least true of the Vaettir. They examine their own hearts and motives as the Preachán examine the aspects of a trade.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Hettie walked between Paedrin and Kiranrao. She did this to keep them from killing each other. Her stomach was in knots, her feelings anxious and fretful. She had almost told him the truth around the fire. She had almost revealed her secret. That it had nearly bubbled out of her lips frightened her. How had he managed to get past her defenses? Kiranrao would poison her with monkshood if he knew.
They entered the monstrous woods of Silvandom early in the day. Hettie had known forests all her life, but these woods were different than anything she had seen. The trees had unnaturally slender trunks that shot straight up in the air with flowery green vegetation above. Tightly bound together, the trees formed a massive maze that met the travelers with an almost uniform consistency. With the sun shielded by the leaves, it was almost impossible to determine which direction they were going.
The foliage was lush and smelled sweet and fragrant. Small pools could be seen at various points along the way, with floating flowers and clouds of gnats. They marched in a northwesterly direction, as best as she could tell. It was several leagues into the woods before they encountered anyone. A Bhikhu floated down from the upper regions of the trees and halted in front of them.
He was middle-aged, his dark skin chapped and his skull completely bald. A drooping mustache adorned his lip. His robes were similar to Paedrin’s but more weather-worn and fraying.
“An unusual greeting,” he said in a rich voice, sizing each of them up individually. “Two Vaettir and an Aeduan girl. Are you lost in the woods?”
Hettie did not wait for her companions to speak. “We are guests of Prince Aransetis of Silvandom. He is expecting us.”