“Call me Shion,” he said, his voice rich, as if he had studied in the theater. “If Tyrus’s motives are not what he claims them to be, then I will be the first to abandon him. I am Phae’s protector. That is all you need know about me.”
“How did Tyrus persuade you to forsake your master?” Kiranrao probed. “If there is anyone here to be distrusted, it’s you, for you were his servant.”
Shion looked at him, a little wrinkle of annoyance on his brow, and said nothing in reply, holding true to his nickname. Phae had been the recipient of his sullen silence in the past. She concealed a smirk.
“Daughter?” Tyrus said patiently, eyes focused on her face. She stared back at him, feeling that complex mixture of emotions. They were still such strangers. She wanted to know him better, but the more she learned about him, the more fearful she was of the cost of knowing him. His enemy was the most powerful man in all the kingdoms. His quest took them into the most dangerous land. How should she feel about a man who willingly took his daughter into such a place?
Phae saw that they were all looking at her, waiting for her to speak. With a blink of her eyes, she could steal their memories away. She could make them all forget the quest they had joined. It caused a wild thrill inside her heart. She could make them forget all about her and then she could walk back to Stonehollow and rejoin her lost family.
It was a sad wish.
But she could not do that. Not after each of them had suffered so much. Not after all the world had suffered.
“My name is Phae Winemiller,” she said simply, crossing her arms over her knees. “And I am here to end the Plague.”
“Havenrook has fallen and the Romani have dispersed. An army of the Cruithne reached the trading city before the King of Wayland could penetrate the woods. I am astonished at how swiftly the collapse occurred. Despite the great wealth of the Preachán and their Romani allies, they apparently took no thought for their own city’s defenses. I am certain they will resent the presence of the mountainfolk amongst them. But what choice do they really have but to endure it?”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
III
Phae was not certain what sort of reaction she would get from her words. She did not enjoy being the subject of so much attention and began to fidget. “I am Dryad-born,” she continued in a low voice, grateful for the darkness that shadowed her face. “I’m of the age where I can bond with a tree and gain access to its memories. My father hopes . . . that doing so will help us understand the Plague’s origin.”
Kiranrao leaned forward. “You hope?”
“I’m convinced,” Tyrus replied, gesturing for Phae to say nothing more. “The place we seek is deep inside the Scourgelands. A place called Poisonwell. It’s a cave.”
“I know that name,” Annon announced in the dark.
Tyrus turned to him, his expression changing to alarm. “I have never spoken it to you before.”
Annon sat up straight and picked at the whiskers on his chin. “It was in the tunnels of Basilides. There was a Rike who kept asking me what I was seeking there. He wanted to know what you had sent us to claim . . . a treasure from the sarcophagi hidden there. He was certain we were seeking an artifact, not the doorway itself. He said that word—Poisonwell—that was the source of the Plague.”
“What else did he say, Annon?”
The Druidecht began to rock back and forth, his face twisting with frustration. He wiped his face with his hands. “I don’t remember it well. He warned of the dangers in the Scourgelands. My memories are so faded. I used to be able to remember every word. Now I can hardly recall a thing. Erasmus said something as well. He figured out something about the Arch-Rike.”
“Try to remember.”
“I am trying, Tyrus.” Annon rose quickly and began to pace around the circle, his brow furrowing deeply. “Khiara? Do you recall what he said?”
The Shaliah’s eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep. “He spoke about the lost blood. The forgotten blood. A persecuted race.”
“Go on,” Tyrus murmured, his eyes twinkling with excitement. The others were leaning forward as well, waiting.
“Yes!” Annon said, stopping. He pumped his fists in concentration. “He spoke about the fireblood. No one knows the name of our race. We look Aeduan, but there was once a name for our kind. It is lost now. But there were crypts, you see. Around in a circle, filled with treasures.”
“Treasure?” Kiranrao murmured inquisitively.
Khiara nodded in the darkness, the moonlight starting to reveal her face. Her eyes were wide open. “There were crypts for each of the kingdoms—”