“Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas,” he said out loud. They were Vaettir words, words she had been taught as a child to control her anger and the fireblood. He put his other hand on her shoulder. “I know what you are. I know who you are. Your father sent me to find you. What we do not know is the name the Winemillers gave you. That was done deliberately to protect you. Your name, child.”
He was outmaneuvering her in every possible way. His approach was deliberate. He had purposefully sought to meet her alone. Everything he did was in reaction to her, anticipating what she would do next. She wondered if she should surprise him, stomp on his foot or something. His grip was hard, but not painful.
“My name is Phae,” she answered, not knowing that she had a choice.
He seemed to breathe it in. He was quiet for a moment. “You may call me Aran. I would like you to go back inside the house. Tell Master Winemiller to meet me here in the barn. I will explain to him the danger that will befall this place when the Arch-Rike discovers it. While he and I speak, you must prepare for a journey. We will travel far, to the woods of Silvandom.”
“I won’t go with you,” she answered firmly. “This is my home, this is…”
His voice hardened. “For your own protection and the protection of this family, you must come with me. Now do as I say. Send Master Winemiller to speak to me. Pack your things. We leave by moonlight.”
He released her suddenly and she nearly fell over. Phae chafed her arm and hurried away from him. As soon as she was free from the barn, she sprinted to the main house and slammed and locked the door behind her. She was shaking violently with fear and unspent anger. Her heart raced, making her dizzy.
Rachael saw her from the kitchen and her eyes crinkled with worry. They shared a room together and had become friends. “Phae?”
The commotion in the kitchen surrounding Trasen’s return quieted. All of the older children were there, the teens such as herself, gathered around to hear Trasen’s stories from his wanderings with Holt.
Dame Winemiller looked concerned. “She’s pale. Are you sick, Phae? Come into the light.”
Trasen sat on the edge of the table, the center of attention, and he quickly leaned off and approached her, his eyes suddenly serious. “Phae?”
The door handle jiggled and then a heavy fist began pounding against the door. Phae stifled an involuntary scream, her eyes burning with tears.
The pounding increased and Phae backed away from the door, staring at it in horror, as if a legion of soldiers were battering it down. Trasen opened the handle and Master Winemiller entered with a scowl of annoyance for being locked out of his home.
“Will someone tell me what is going on?” he said, gazing from Phae to Trasen to his wife, completely bewildered at everything happening at the moment.
She struggled to control her feelings, but seeing him brought a semblance of sanity back into her mind. Master Winemiller could fix anything. He was not an educated man, not like the Archivists of Kenatos, but he knew the ways of the world and he was wise and fair. He was very slow to trust anyone.
Phae pulled Trasen with her and dropped her voice low so that only the two men could hear. “There is a man in the barn. A stranger.”
Winemiller scowled. His wrinkled forehead furrowed even more. His skin was so weathered by the sun, he almost seemed he could be part-Vaettir. There was a liberal amount of gray in his goatee and hair. “A stranger?”
She nodded, out of breath from the shifting emotions. She felt like shaking her hands, but she was afraid fire might start gushing from her fingertips if she did. “He’s a Vaettir lord, but he’s dressed like the Rikes of Seithrall. He said his name is Aransetis. That the Arch-Rike wants me dead. He said many things. I’m frightened.”
Dame Winemiller’s voice came from the kitchen. “What is happening? Is she sick? I can bring a towel. What is wrong with Phae?”
Phae gazed at her adopted father’s eyes. He did not look surprised. In fact, he looked as if part of him had always been expecting news of this kind. He patted her shoulder. “He is in the barn?”
Phae nodded. “He bid me find you. He wants to speak with you.”
Master Winemiller nodded as well and turned back to the half-open door, but Phae caught his sleeve. “I don’t want to go,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me leave. I…I…”
Winemiller rested his hand on her shoulder. His eyes were smoldering with buried fury. “You will not go anywhere, Phae. You will not do anything until I come back.” He looked at Trasen. “Bolt the door while I am gone. Stay with her.”