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Still clinging to his hand, she thought about the Seneschal of Mirrowen, the being who would take her oaths and bind her to the tree with a Voided Key. She wondered if she would ever understand the mysteries shrouding the secrets.
“Thank you for being my protector,” she said after the intense silence. “Whatever comes, I feel my courage grow stronger because you are with me. If my fear starts to outweigh my desires, please remind me of this. I don’t want to quail when that moment comes.”
His other hand cupped hers and he offered a warm smile, nodding. Then something caught his gaze and he let her hand go, nodding for her to look as well.
The voices were just starting to rise to the point where others could hear. As Phae turned her head to look, she saw Kiranrao speaking vehemently to her father. Both were standing apart from the others, deep in conversation. It was Kiranrao’s voice that was rising.
“I will return immediately,” the Romani said sternly. “You cannot deny me this request, Tyrus. My people are being butchered and I’ve learned something tonight that can help them. It’ll take days before the Boeotians can attack Kenatos. I can have Romani there before tomorrow evening.”
“I have no doubt that you can,” Tyrus said, his brows knitting in anger. “But you can just as easily not return with it at all, and I cannot take the risk. It is vital to my plans for conquering the Scourgelands. I gave you the chance to leave earlier, Kiranrao, and you chose to stay. Have you changed your mind?”
“No!”
“Then why do you persist in arguing about this? I will not give you the Tay al-Ard.”
“I can take it from you,” Kiranrao said in a warning voice.
A surge of panic thrust inside Phae like a knife. Shion rose immediately and walked toward the two men. Prince Aran approached as well.
“I do not underestimate your abilities nor the powers of that blade,” Tyrus said, seething. “I have a keen respect for both, or you would not even be here. If you attack Kenatos now, you may slow Havenrook’s defeat, but it was ordained to be defeated when the Arch-Rike decided to alter the shipping charters. We seek to banish the Plagues. That will do the Arch-Rike more harm than anything else you try.”
“Give it to me.”
Tyrus shook his head. “Think, Kiranrao! You are seeing threats in shadows because your people are being hunted and persecuted. Erasmus once told me that when a man risks losing his fortune, or his health, or some other thing he feels entitled to, he will begin to think irrationally to forestall the event.”
Kiranrao’s face went black with rage. Phae stood shakily, worried for her father’s safety. Shion closed the gap, approaching from behind the mercurial Romani.
“You’re saying I’m a fool?”
“Of course not! You are the shrewdest man in Havenrook. Everyone knows it. But you are also the Arch-Rike’s enemy and you know how implacable he is. He has been plotting your overthrow for several years. As I have been plotting his. We are allies, Kiranrao. This quest cannot succeed without you.”
“Then give me the device,” Kiranrao snapped. “I will give you the blade in exchange so that you know I will return as promised. You say you have faith in me, but your actions do not match.” He turned suddenly on Shion, his face livid. “You may not be harmed by other men, Kishion dog, but believe me . . . this blade will kill even you.”
Shion was unmoved by the speech. He stared at Kiranrao with cool disregard.
“I’m warning you—”
Tyrus interrupted. “Kiranrao, you must accept my leadership in this quest, or we cannot go on with you.” He stepped even closer to the Romani, his voice pitching lower. “Don’t be offended that I didn’t send you against Tasvir Virk. You could have slaughtered the man in an instant. But that blade draws in the strengths of those it kills. Would you want your mind tainted by his madness? Think! You are the crucial part of this. There are dangers in the Scourgelands that only you will be fierce enough to confront. I count on that. Don’t be petty. You are worth your price . . . worth the reward you will gain. You will redeem your people if you stay true to me. Believe in that.”
Kiranrao’s face was mottled with fury, but Tyrus’s words were starting to assuage him. The look of murder in his eyes had softened. Phae believed that Tyrus was manipulating his emotions, trying to play the right chords to calm him.
Snorting with disgust, the Romani whirled and stalked away, his face twisted with displeasure. Phae approached Tyrus and only then saw his fist unclench. His hand trembled with emotions. She had never seen her father betray any sign like that before.
