“Peace,” the Seneschal said, waving his hand absently at the storm. “Enough. All is well. Be still.”
Phae watched as the brooding storm slumped in defeat, the waves receding back to the boundaries of the rocks. The clouds scattered, revealing ample blue sky, and a calm breeze flittered past them, replacing the stiff gale that had preceded it.
The Seneschal offered her his arm as they walked along the beach toward the magnificent dwellings built into the sculpted hill. Many from the city began to appear, coming out now that the ferocity of the storm had passed.
“Do the storms rage more fiercely when you are gone?” she asked him.
He nodded. “The waters of the Deep are always trying to destroy the world. They will never stop trying so long as time reigns in your world. Eventually they will all be tamed. I am patient.”
“You are,” Phae agreed. “What will you tell me about Shirikant?”
“His name is Aristaios. It is from the ancient tongue and it means ‘the best.’ He was the firstborn son of the King of the Moussion. His parents were loving and wise but both were killed on a storm-tossed sea returning from a treaty journey to the Vaettir homeland. He was seventeen when they died and inherited the kingdom after a brief interregnum from a steward. Some children drastically alter the affairs of a kingdom if they inherit too young, but Aristaios wanted to live up to the name he was given. He took the role seriously, as he did when he assumed the responsibility of being a brother and a father to Prince Isic and his sisters. The death of their parents impacted them deeply. Prince Isic turned inward, nursing a secret grief. He became acquainted with the Druidecht order, which was in its infancy, and sought the whispers from Mirrowen. Aristaios was handsome and charming and had the best advisors, and he hearkened to their counsel, winning himself esteem and respect. He was always ambitious and harnessed that ambition to be a great king. He did not marry for he was seeking a bride who was perfect. While he met many eligible maidens, none had the perfection he sought in a wife.”
The Seneschal advanced to the outer bulwarks of the garden city and inhaled, his breath making them rise up to the rampway above. Several spirit beasts bowed in homage to him and he acknowledged them with a gentle stroking of their ruffs.
“Aristaios knew of the Druidecht ways. You noticed the book that Isic wrote his secrets in, his sketches, his explanation of the ways of Spirit magic. The two brothers were close. Despite being reserved, Isic was popular. He did not seek attention but he always got it. That rankled Aristaios, though he buried those emotions. The two brothers came to Mirrowen together, crossing the bridge of Poisonwell and seeking me out. We will wait for them by the tree, of course. When someone exercises sufficient self-mastery to enter this land, I allow him an opportunity to partake of a single fruit of the tree. They can choose it themselves or allow me to pick one suitable for their purpose. As you observe, I will shroud you in my magic so that they will not see you. But through our connection, you will hear my thoughts. Watch and observe. This moment is critical. This moment shifted the course of the future. One decision, one regret, can alter one’s entire future. Evil does not bloom all at once. It is nurtured like a seed. It always begins with a thought.”
He patted her arm and led her over the ramp to the beautiful tree with its variety of fruit. The silver lions still guarded the area, resting on their haunches but alert and watchful. He motioned for Phae to take a small seat on a bench on the side of the veranda. The waters gushing from the tree passed under the stone beneath her, turning into rivers and rivulets farther down, silvery and clear.
Phae sat on the bench and felt as if a blanket had come across her shoulders. They had not waited for long when a Vaettir approached, the two princes coming behind.
“Kind master,” the Vaettir said in formal greeting and a low bow. “Two travelers from the mortal world. They are brothers and seek audience with the Seneschal of Mirrowen.”
“Bid them welcome, Taliesian.”