Poisonwell
Page 77
Tyrus looked at her shrewdly. “I did not know he would chase off after him like that. I admit that he surprised me. We cannot always predict what others will choose to do. He failed to trust me. If there is a way I can bring him back, I will. Let me think on it. We all need some rest. When the night comes, we will pursue our destination again.”
“Now that there are fewer of us, can the Tay al-Ard be used more frequently?” Annon asked.
Tyrus nodded, smiling. “Another benefit of my deception. Now that we have lost Kiranrao from among us, we can speak more freely. One of the things we need to do next is understand where the Mother Tree is in this forest. I have my suspicions, but I believe Phae can lead us there more quickly. I’ve deliberately had you avoid speaking to the Dryad trees, for I believe that the Arch-Rike is connected to their minds. It’s a risk, but one we may need to take to get to our destination faster. We will mourn those we’ve lost. We will rest a little while and tend to our injuries. We cannot stay here for long.”
Annon stared at Tyrus, not sure what he should feel about the situation. His heart ached for those they had lost, yet he knew the risks had been great from the beginning. Hettie’s face showed a frown of bitterness, but she was skilled herself at duplicity. Phae stared at her father sadly and said nothing.
Tyrus rose, his presence looming over them. His voice fell soft. “There is one more thing I must confess.” He looked at Annon and Hettie gravely.
Annon stared at him. Hettie grabbed Annon’s forearm, her look unsettled.
“I may have overused the fireblood already. Since we entered the woods, I’ve been haunted by a shade. The shade of your mother, Merinda. I’ve seen her several times already, including at the Fear Liath’s lair. She was pointing to the stone hidden in the tree. I heard her whisper your name, Annon.”
A shiver went down Annon’s back. “Maybe you aren’t mad, Tyrus. I heard it too.”
“We are reinforced by the King of Wayland. The Arch-Rike’s defenses within the city are formidable. Without ships, the soldiers are arriving somehow. It is some arcane power from the Paracelsus Towers that allows this. The fighting in the streets continues. The gutters overflow with blood.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXIII
Phae watched her father blanch at Annon’s words. He shook his head as if dizzied by the news. “I don’t know what this means. Does she watch over us? Is this a trap? Have we all gone mad?” He coughed roughly against his forearm, then shook his head with consternation. “Let me puzzle this through. We should tend to our injuries while we can. Hettie . . . I must rely on your healing skills.”
“I will do what I can,” she said, scrunching up her face. “I can make a salve that will draw out poison. I have some needles and thread for more serious wounds.”
“Work quickly,” Tyrus said, smiling gratefully. “I don’t know how long we can rest before the Weir find us again.”
“I can also help,” Shion said. “I’ve been trained.” He gripped Phae’s shoulder and nodded toward her blood-soaked sleeve.
“I will stand guard,” Prince Aransetis said. “Even I must grieve. In my own way.” His dark eyes hardened, his jaw clenching with buried anger. He stalked away from the little grove a short distance and began to pace the perimeter, gazing into the dark woods as he made the circuit.
As Shion knelt before her, Phae watched the daylight glint in his hair. She was awash in surging and conflicting emotions. He had thrown himself against the Fear Liath over and over, even though no weapon or blow could injure it, yet he hadn’t quit in his efforts to protect her. He had shoved her feet to help her climb the branch. He had been tossed aside multiple times, but returned persistently, trying to draw the beast’s attention away.
But she was unsettled. As her spirit had been trapped inside the stone, she had heard his mourning, and his words had ripped open feelings inside her that she had just begun to suspect she possessed. Her heart wrenched with powerful emotions when he had whispered to her, and she had no idea how to handle them. My darling. My love.
What did he mean by them? Why did they awaken in her such tenderness? She had cared about him before. She realized her feelings had moved further.
Shion examined the torn sleeve, looking at the wound. His lips pursed and he muttered under his breath. Taking out his water flask, he uncorked it and slit some of his own cloak to form a cloth, which he soaked and began washing the wound. It stung and she gritted her teeth. The wound was dirty and could get infected, so she bit her tongue and endured the pain, studying his face as he worked.
“Now that there are fewer of us, can the Tay al-Ard be used more frequently?” Annon asked.
Tyrus nodded, smiling. “Another benefit of my deception. Now that we have lost Kiranrao from among us, we can speak more freely. One of the things we need to do next is understand where the Mother Tree is in this forest. I have my suspicions, but I believe Phae can lead us there more quickly. I’ve deliberately had you avoid speaking to the Dryad trees, for I believe that the Arch-Rike is connected to their minds. It’s a risk, but one we may need to take to get to our destination faster. We will mourn those we’ve lost. We will rest a little while and tend to our injuries. We cannot stay here for long.”
Annon stared at Tyrus, not sure what he should feel about the situation. His heart ached for those they had lost, yet he knew the risks had been great from the beginning. Hettie’s face showed a frown of bitterness, but she was skilled herself at duplicity. Phae stared at her father sadly and said nothing.
Tyrus rose, his presence looming over them. His voice fell soft. “There is one more thing I must confess.” He looked at Annon and Hettie gravely.
Annon stared at him. Hettie grabbed Annon’s forearm, her look unsettled.
“I may have overused the fireblood already. Since we entered the woods, I’ve been haunted by a shade. The shade of your mother, Merinda. I’ve seen her several times already, including at the Fear Liath’s lair. She was pointing to the stone hidden in the tree. I heard her whisper your name, Annon.”
A shiver went down Annon’s back. “Maybe you aren’t mad, Tyrus. I heard it too.”
“We are reinforced by the King of Wayland. The Arch-Rike’s defenses within the city are formidable. Without ships, the soldiers are arriving somehow. It is some arcane power from the Paracelsus Towers that allows this. The fighting in the streets continues. The gutters overflow with blood.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXIII
Phae watched her father blanch at Annon’s words. He shook his head as if dizzied by the news. “I don’t know what this means. Does she watch over us? Is this a trap? Have we all gone mad?” He coughed roughly against his forearm, then shook his head with consternation. “Let me puzzle this through. We should tend to our injuries while we can. Hettie . . . I must rely on your healing skills.”
“I will do what I can,” she said, scrunching up her face. “I can make a salve that will draw out poison. I have some needles and thread for more serious wounds.”
“Work quickly,” Tyrus said, smiling gratefully. “I don’t know how long we can rest before the Weir find us again.”
“I can also help,” Shion said. “I’ve been trained.” He gripped Phae’s shoulder and nodded toward her blood-soaked sleeve.
“I will stand guard,” Prince Aransetis said. “Even I must grieve. In my own way.” His dark eyes hardened, his jaw clenching with buried anger. He stalked away from the little grove a short distance and began to pace the perimeter, gazing into the dark woods as he made the circuit.
As Shion knelt before her, Phae watched the daylight glint in his hair. She was awash in surging and conflicting emotions. He had thrown himself against the Fear Liath over and over, even though no weapon or blow could injure it, yet he hadn’t quit in his efforts to protect her. He had shoved her feet to help her climb the branch. He had been tossed aside multiple times, but returned persistently, trying to draw the beast’s attention away.
But she was unsettled. As her spirit had been trapped inside the stone, she had heard his mourning, and his words had ripped open feelings inside her that she had just begun to suspect she possessed. Her heart wrenched with powerful emotions when he had whispered to her, and she had no idea how to handle them. My darling. My love.
What did he mean by them? Why did they awaken in her such tenderness? She had cared about him before. She realized her feelings had moved further.
Shion examined the torn sleeve, looking at the wound. His lips pursed and he muttered under his breath. Taking out his water flask, he uncorked it and slit some of his own cloak to form a cloth, which he soaked and began washing the wound. It stung and she gritted her teeth. The wound was dirty and could get infected, so she bit her tongue and endured the pain, studying his face as he worked.
