“There is a risk when using the fireblood,” Annon said. “If you do not think the words of power that tame it, prior to summoning it, then you can easily lose control of its use. The result is madness.”
Paedrin scowled at him. “I know that’s been a risk ever since I’ve met you two. Are you suggesting . . . ?”
Annon stared at him and nodded. “Our mother died using the fireblood to save Tyrus’s life. His own sister lost her mind as well. Hasn’t he been acting rather strangely since our encounter with the Vecses?”
“He knows the dangers we’re facing,” Hettie said, her voice guarded. “He also knows the risks of the fireblood better than anyone.”
“I know that, Hettie. But he does not seem quite himself. We should be cautious.”
Hettie nodded grimly. Then she gazed at his back and winced. “You’re bleeding profusely. That Weir slit your back into ribbons. It’s still bleeding. Khiara!”
The Shaliah finished treating Baylen’s wounds and then hurried to them, her face pinched with exhaustion. She examined Annon’s wounds, nodded with empathy, and then put her hand on his shoulder. Her healing magic suffused him. He was always impressed with the keramat, and its effects were instantaneous. Her powers had stopped him from dying at Neodesha’s tree, earning him the boon of learning her name. A rush of warmth and relief descended from his shoulders, going all the way down to his toes. He bowed his head reverently, feeling the grace of her power washing over him in waves. There was a poignant feeling, a wishing for release from the coils of life. Then the emotion passed and he was healed.
“Thank you, Khiara,” Annon said gratefully. In his mind, he saw Nizeera lying crumpled near the giant tree, tossed aside like refuse. Pain gnawed at his insides, replacing the calm relief with darkness. He clasped his knees, brooding. Glancing up, he saw Tyrus talking with Prince Aran, their heads low in deep conversation. Annon resented the scolding. Before he had been treated as the budding leader of the group. Even now, he wore a ring on his hand that could summon the Tay al-Ard to his fist. Being treated like an errant child was humiliating.
“Look at your legs, Hettie,” Khiara said. “Let me heal them.” Her gift was repeated twice, restoring Hettie and then Paedrin back to their full strength.
Khiara rose stiffly, swaying a little, and then walked back to Tyrus. “I am finished.”
“Good,” he said gruffly. “We go. Gather around.”
There was no time to rest. Annon felt refreshed, however, his strength restored by Khiara’s miraculous touch. He could not bear to meet Tyrus’s eyes, but he stood firmly and waited for the words that would come.
“I see where you brought us,” Kiranrao said blandly. “It’s too dark to see far, but there are the boulders over there. It’s the wall. You brought us back to the beginning.”
“Yes, we will follow it a ways. Then we will plunge deeper into the woods. We need to reach the center.”
“How do you know that what we seek is in the center?”
“You’ll have to trust me,” Tyrus replied, his voice suddenly gaining an edge of hostility.
“Ah,” Kiranrao said. “Back to that concept again. I don’t think you have any idea what we’re looking for or where it is.”
A cool wind rustled the trees, spilling decayed leaves. Tyrus stood firm, his face directly toward the Romani.
“Think what you will, Kiranrao.”
“I do,” he replied. “You’ve managed to bring us in circles so far. Forgive me if I find trusting you a little difficult right now.”
“A good beginning is half the work?” Tyrus taunted.
Kiranrao scowled at the use of a Romani proverb. “Be wary, Tyrus. I may grow weary of you.”
“Everyone who came here serves a purpose,” Tyrus said icily. “I chose everyone with great care. Even you.”
Kiranrao stiffened. “I serve no man.”
“I didn’t say that you did. You serve a purpose. You are greedy and you’ve lost your fortune. I helped arrange that, Kiranrao. I wanted you to be very desperate. After losing in gambling, the mind becomes twisted with regret and one cannot see things as they really are. You know this, having been master in Havenrook for so long. You count on it, the ability to trick a man away from his treasure because he’s already lost so much. You’ve played right into my hands.”
Annon stared at Tyrus, feeling his mouth go dry at the brutal words coming from his mouth. This was not like Tyrus. He had always been so calm and diplomatic. Now that they were inside the lair of the Scourgelands, it was as if he were taking off a mask and revealing his true self—a manipulative, ruthless man seeking power.