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YES
The force of the Seneschal’s thought-whisper nearly made her black out. She blinked in amazement, feeling the realization turn into jagged pieces inside her stomach. This man . . . this creature’s blood was part of her own existence! Pain and disbelief battled inside.
“What would you seek of me, Prince Isic?” the Seneschal said in a softer tone. Shion was still on his knee. He had been staring at the Seneschal’s daughter, the Dryad-born, his face full of intense emotions. He started.
“I seek to serve you,” he said, his voice half-choked. He fished inside his tunic front and withdrew a bronze Druidecht talisman, shaped into the design that Phae had seen in his book. He pulled it off and cradled it in his hands. “I made this. With my own hands. These designs represent eighteen different facets I have observed about spirit magic and Mirrowen. I’ve memorized eighteen precepts about them and how not to harm or injure the spirit beings. There are also eighteen virtues, I believe, which you honor and respect. They are your characteristics, my lord. The circle in the center represents you. A circle has no beginning and no end. I built this . . . this . . . talisman to help me remember what I have learned about Mirrowen. It helps me focus my thoughts when the world distracts me. What I ask of you, my lord, is that you touch this talisman. Bless it in some way that when I wear it, I will be able to hear the whispers more clearly. If I can hear your will, then I will do it. I seek to be your emissary in the mortal world. To serve you as long as you will have me. When any Druidecht has earned your trust, has demonstrated constancy in seeking to protect and defend the knowledge of Mirrowen, then you would give him a talisman to mark your favor.” He held out the medallion.
“I grant your desire,” the Seneschal said, his voice warm and pleased. He motioned to his daughter and she approached Shion, taking the talisman from his hand. The look on her face was eager and excited. She smiled at him, blinking with tenderness. Phae felt a prick of envy seeing her.
“I also grant you,” he continued, “a chance to choose one of the fruit from the tree.”
Shion shook his head. “Let your daughter choose for me, my lord. I trust she is wiser than I.”
The daughter’s face brightened with a touching smile. She looked at her father, nodding vigorously.
“If you choose it, Daughter,” he said. There was something in his voice—a hint of regret. “So be it.”
The Seneschal’s daughter rushed to the tree and plucked one of the immortal fruit from the branch. The serpent did not rear its head that time. Phae watched as she presented it to Shion, offering it to him with obvious delight.
Aristaios’s face was hardening by the moment, but he mastered himself. He stared at his brother, still on his knees. A curl of contempt flickered across his mouth and then was gone.
Shion took the fruit from her hands and sank his teeth into it. A surprised look came next, and she remembered the strange bitter taste of it when she had eaten it herself. He devoured the fruit, bit by bit, then slowly stood, his body full of strength and vigor.
The Seneschal stepped forward and placed his hand on Shion’s shoulder. “You are one of the Unwearying Ones now. You may pass through Pontfadog without death. You are welcome here. My daughter has chosen you, Prince Isic. She has chosen you to be her husband. I have chosen you to be my heir. One day you will inherit the Voided Keys that were entrusted to me, if you honor your oath to serve the mortal world. My daughter has an obligation to fulfill. But before she is bound to her tree, she would like to visit the mortal world, to visit the kingdom of the Moussion. She wishes to meet and know your people, your kindred. Marry her according to your laws and customs. Then return her here and I will bind you according to ours.” He smiled at Shion then, a fatherly look. “This was your secret desire, Prince Isic. I cannot forbid it. May you find joy in your decision. May you endure the pain of it as well.”
Phae stared at the Seneschal’s daughter and Shion, her stomach clenching with dread and an awful premonition. When she looked next at Aristaios, his face was cold and smooth, betraying nothing of what he felt. His hands were clasped behind his back, clenched tightly. His fingers were glowing blue with flames.
“The Vaettir have a saying that I find of utmost relevance in our dilemma now: Prayer is a groan.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XLII
Phae’s mind whirled with the implications of what she had seen. Sitting on the stone bench, she gripped the edges tightly, squeezing hard. Along with the thoughts came a storm front of emotions as well. The swirl of memories, the places she had been, it all thundered inside of her, trying to sort itself out, to fit together.
