Thank you! Many blessings on you, kind Master! Three centuries have I been trapped, but now I am free! Bless you, kind Master!
Annon opened his eyes, and he saw the spirit hovering in the air before him. It was as small as a butterfly, but instead of gossamer, its wings were crooked and spiny with thorns. Its tiny body was thick with thorns, like a desiccated rose branch. The creature bowed in homage to him, singing again in a tone so clear and beautiful it made his heart ache fiercely.
You set me free, kind Master. I am of the Briarlings. One of your companions is wounded by my hand. I shall heal him for you.
The spirit zipped over to Paedrin, who flinched and batted at it as it disappeared into the gash; he stiffened with surprise.
The cut was mended before their eyes.
Many tender thanks, kind Master! I go to Mirrowen at last. Farewell!
The light streaked through the woods and vanished.
“The cut is gone!” Hettie said, shocked.
Paedrin looked down and then at Annon. “Did you do that?”
Erasmus chuckled from beneath his cloak. “You have never seen Druidecht before, Bhikhu? I’m surprised.”
Paedrin explored his skin, pinching the flesh and examining it closely. He moved his arms around in circles, testing them for movement. “Amazing.”
“Even more amazing that he wasted five thousand ducats to heal you,” Erasmus said dryly. “Whoever owned that blade will want you dead.”
“He already does,” Paedrin quipped.
Annon stared at the warped, mangled metal in his hand. “I did not heal you,” he said softly, looking at the shattered object for what it was. A prison. A gloriously fancy one too. “There was a spirit trapped in the stone. I set it free. It chose to heal you because its power had wounded you.”
Paedrin’s eyebrows lowered. “A spirit? You mean the light?”
“You all saw it as light,” Annon answered, fingering his talisman. “Only I could see it for what it was. It was trying to speak to me from inside the stone, but I could not hear it. The nature of its imprisonment prevented it. But it could sense my thoughts and tried its best to communicate with me.”
In his mind, he thought about his uncle’s desk and the dozens of orbs there. It filled his mind with unspeakable anger to think about what beings might be trapped there. More than Briarlings. There were many species of spirits. Trapped. Imprisoned. Unable to speak. It angered him.
“Annon,” Hettie said warningly again, gripping his arm. His fingers were glowing.
“Thank you,” he muttered, trying to master himself. “I was remembering my visit to my uncle a few days ago. Things are not as they seem.”
Erasmus snorted.
Paedrin shot an annoyed look his way and then stood and pulled back on his robe, still stiff with blood. He wrapped his belt around it and adjusted it. “It would be wise, before we go any further, if we spoke more truthfully to each other about what is going on.”
Annon looked up at him. “There has been no attempt to deceive you, Paedrin.”
The Bhikhu waved his hand impatiently. “Not on your part. But it is clear to me, and I am no fool, that there is much your uncle should have told you and did not.”
“Such as?” Hettie challenged.
Paedrin turned to her. “Let’s start with your story. You are a Romani girl near the age to earn a second earring. That is a pretty significant custom among your people, as I understand things. I cannot say I know many Romani, but that is nothing to complain about. You were told of a location where a great treasure is buried that you might use to free yourself without implicating your uncle. Clearly…and I hope you are not as dense as Erasmus is…your uncle knew full well that Kiranrao has been looking for Drosta’s lair. Maybe it is not the treasure we need but something that Kiranrao can provide.”
Annon frowned and shook his head. “What are you saying, Paedrin?”
“It was no coincidence that we ended up in that place. We just disrupted trade on an enormous scale and made several thousand enemies, one of which is a man who can outbid Tyrus to determine your future.” He looked pointedly at Hettie. “Maybe your uncle was intending you to buy your freedom with Kiranrao’s coin?”
Hettie flushed darkly. “I do not want that man’s help,” she said venomously. “I am even regretting my uncle’s interference in my problem. He told us nothing about what we would face. He sent us into the middle of Havenrook with very little information.”
“Exactly my point!” Paedrin said, rounding. “What is truly going on here?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Hettie shot back. “I went asking for help, to find a way to earn my freedom. Part of me just wishes to march back to Kenatos, spit in my uncle’s face, and have done with all this.”
“Not a wise course of action,” Erasmus offered with a smirk. “You have no idea how many ill things are caused by spittle.”
“You are not in the least curious about what Drosta’s treasure is and why Kiranrao wants it?”