Phae removed it from her girdle and gave it to him.
He turned it over in his hands, studying the design of it. “Your father crafted this,” he said, nodding in approval. “He did well. You cannot trap Tay al-Ard spirits. They cannot be bound into service. They are important to maintaining the flow of time in your world. With this device, you can go anywhere you have ever been, correct?”
Phae nodded.
“Since I bear the Voided Keys, it authorizes me to go anywhere in time, to places I have been or not. The knowledge you seek will be communicated best if you are shown it. Remember, with your robe and the word of power you can look like you belong anywhere. You can also disappear from the sight of mortals. You can hear any language spoken and understand it, or you can speak any language. We will travel together and see how the curse of the Plague began. There is no book you need to read, though all things are written by me. Instead, I will show it to you. Throughout the lives of mortals, there are always pivotal moments. Most often, those moments are so subtle we barely appreciate how momentous they are. A wayward rebuke by a thoughtless father can doom his children to a misunderstanding of their gifts or abilities. Those small moments, those key moments, are often never seen by the rest of the world. They alter the course of someone’s life. It is possible to go watch those moments. To be in attendance, unseen, when they happen. Sometimes, all that is needed is a little push, a little nudge to make the fate complete. It takes wisdom to know when those moments arrive. Come with me, child.”
The Seneschal extended his hand. Phae grasped it, and it was warm and strong and firm. He held the Tay al-Ard, looking into her eyes, giving her a feeling of warmth and protection.
He blinked and everything changed.
The next instant, Phae found herself in the great hall of an enormous castle. There were huge trestle tables laden with the remnants of a feast. It was a tidy affair, not a boisterous event, and what few scraps had fallen to the floor rushes were instantly snatched by greyhounds and gobbled up. Torches hung in brackets on the wall, causing a smoky light to fill the hall, revealing a crowd of men and women dressed in fine tunics and gowns. The style was different from what she was used to, but she noticed that her robe had assumed the design and style of the time and that she was walking arm in arm with the Seneschal, who was now much shorter and looking more Aeduan than any other race. He still had his piercing blue eyes and she would have recognized him from across the crowded hall by the majesty of his presence alone. The Voided Keys were fastened to his belt innocuously.
Servants brought in fresh drinks, wine, by the smell of it, and the guests of the feast were quick to fill their goblets, but no one drank to excess. There were beautiful tapestries adorning the walls, hanging from high iron piles fixed to rings. The ceiling was vaulted and filled with wooden timbers supporting the weight of stone above.
“Where are we?” Phae asked the Seneschal, keeping her voice guarded.
“Stonehollow,” he replied. “Long ago, according to your reckoning. There is no Kenatos yet. The strongest empire is Boeotia, but she is a peaceful nation. What race are these, do you suppose?”
“They seem Aeduan,” Phae replied, but wrinkled her brow. “But different. More stern and serious, though. I can see a difference.”
“Yes, you do. Come this way. You will have a good view from over here.”
“Are these the nobles of Stonehollow?” Phae asked.
“Yes, but not only the nobles. Their king values the artisans, those with excellence in craft and skill. He rewards those with talent and so many come to perform and display their abilities. He commissions the best, regardless of how humble their origins. Do you see his throne? It’s made of stone to be uncomfortable. So that he will remind himself of the weight of his responsibility. That he must counsel with prudence and judgment.”
“Where is the king?” Phae asked, searching around and seeing only the empty throne.
“Over there,” the Seneschal said. “He is approaching.”
Phae saw him. He was probably thirty years old, full of vigor and health. He was a handsome man and spoke to several as he ascended the steps of the dais to the throne. His hair was not the gray she had seen in the grove, but was auburn, like her own, with fringes of gray on the edges near his ears. When he turned and seated himself, a hush fell over the room.
Phae’s heart constricted with a spasm of terror. The face was young, but the features were clear. “The Arch-Rike,” she whispered in shock.