The look in Shirikant’s eyes went silver with hatred. “Never!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
“You betrayed your own blood. You betrayed your own heart. Because of what? Jealousy? Because the Seneschal chose to honor me above you because he discerned the variance in our motives? Because he saw what you would become?”
“He sees nothing!” Shirikant shrieked. His fingers gripped the Tay al-Ard so tightly it seemed the metal would rend in his hand. “I hate him! I hate you! Would I could drown you in this boiling pool! I would choke your last breath with my hands.”
“You’ve tried,” Shion said, his own cheek twitching. “How many ways and how many times have you tried to murder me, Brother? You’ve buried me in stone. You’ve chained me to the bottom of the lake. I remember it all now. To hide your guilt and shame? It festers inside you like a wound that will not heal. It cannot heal now, Brother. There is no spell, no balm that can save you now. You are like the Void, constantly hammering against the defenses. And that is where you will be chained. It is your punishment, Brother. I could not prevent it even if I desired mercy. And I do not. I don’t hate you—”
“Do not spit your pity at me!” Shirikant screamed.
“I have no pity for you. You knew what you did when you spoke to that serpent. You deceived yourself before you deceived us all. You never knew what it was to fail. You knew pride, never meekness. You were jealous in the end. What a petty emotion, Brother. It’s a filthy broth that will not nourish. You will accept no one to rule over you. So you will inherit a kingdom of chaos.”
The silence that followed sent shivers of dread through Phae’s heart. The blackness seemed to gather around them, drawn into a vortex of hatred and loathing.
Shirikant’s voice was cruel and placid. “I will destroy every living soul in this world. You cannot catch me. You cannot take me against my will. I too have trained with the Kishion. I am not afraid of you, Brother. And I know more about Druidecht lore than you ever will. Dryad—I call you by your true name, Phae Grove, and I bind you to serve me.”
Phae felt a whorl of magic rush against her, searing into her skull. It was as if a great hand clutched her mind, gripping it with iron fingers. She felt it, but it had no power over her. She knew that, but she also knew that Shirikant did not. If she could trick him into looking into her eyes . . .
“No!” Shion shouted, his mind connected to hers.
Take his memories she heard Shirikant whisper greedily in her mind.
Shirikant raised the stone cup to his mouth and swallowed several gulps from it. Trickles of silver liquid spilled down his chin. He grimaced in pain.
“No, I forbid it!” Shion said, turning to look at her, to look deliberately into her eyes. His expression hardened into fierce determination. He did not want Shirikant’s memories harvested inside her, his evil chained inside her tree.
Now! Shirikant’s thoughts murmured to her.
Phae turned to Shirikant, shrugging off the heavy oppressive feeling against her mind. “That is not my Dryad name,” she announced, looking into his eyes. And she blinked.
The wave of memories struck her like a flood, coursing through her mind, her body, her soul in a hailstorm of evil and gibbering terror. She crumpled to her knees, feeling the weight of the burden suffocating her, soiling her, bringing her in contact with the worst demons of imagination possible. She shrank from the onslaught, uttering a groan of despair as the thoughts and images flooded her mind. The countless murders and savagery he had caused through his many faces. It was worse than she could have ever imagined, seeing the suffering and devastation and ruin that one being had caused throughout the world.
She felt arms around her, holding her, hugging her, and realized that Shion was kneeling next to her, sharing the memories as they passed through her, their minds connected by Dryad magic. It was a never-ending scream, a ceaseless howling that rippled into eternity.
She trembled under the weight of the horror, her own mind faltering to know what to do, and then by instinct, it happened. She began to unload the memories into her Dryad tree, and as she did, the burden began to lighten, the stretching strain against her soul began to ease. Memories shuffled into place, like books on a shelf, sinews of leather and glue and parchment.
There was a retching sound.
It felt as if a million pricking needles had stabbed inside Phae’s eyes. She had crumpled against Isic, feeling his strong arms around her, keeping her up. Shirikant knelt by the pool of quicksilver, vomiting silver bile back into the bubbling pool.
He looked sick and confused, his body shuddering as he looked up blankly, staring at the two of them without a shred of recognition. He wiped a trickle of silver from his mouth. “Where am I?” he whispered hoarsely. He looked around the battered cave.