“They were married in the Druidecht rites,” the Seneschal said. “Scarcely an hour ago. Prince Isic did not wish for all this pomp and circumstance but his brother insisted, managing to delay the wedding for many months as they entertained guests from various kingdoms coming to greet and pay respects to the Seneschal’s Dryad-born daughter. By this time my daughter was feeling the pains of the seed traveling through her. She knew her time had come and she longed to return to the grove and claim her birthright. She relented to the persuasions of the king, despite her pain and the longing to return. She hid her discomforts from everyone but Prince Isic. They were inseparable, the closest of confidants and friends. Shirikant’s jealousy grew more envenomed. And so he made a pact with the serpent Iddawc to kill his brother on their wedding day. He was deposited in a hedge maze and the guests were warned to stay away, that it was a special reward for the bride and groom. There . . . do you see them?”
Phae looked up and saw Aristaios escorting the Seneschal’s daughter by the arm toward the mouth of the hedges. He was speaking to her gallantly, explaining the nature of the maze and that the couple had to seek each other by calling out to each other and finding the way. She would be in the center and Prince Isic would need to find her. It was a charming custom among their people.
Phae could see the worried looks on the daughter’s face, and she could recognize the strain caused by pain in her brow. Phae knew how she felt, how the pain of the Dryad seed could be torturous.
Phae clutched the Seneschal’s arm. “Does it pain you to see this?” she asked him, feeling the terrible sense of impending doom.
“Yes,” he replied, smiling sadly. He patted her arm. “Some memories are painful. But I am proud of her too. Proud of what she did. Let’s follow them. They will not see us.”
Phae went alongside the Seneschal as he directed them toward the hedge maze. Shirikant was just ahead, causing her to look at the sculpted hedges and statuary decorating it. They passed through the maze quickly, for Shirikant knew the way.
“The Scourgelands is a hedge maze,” the Seneschal whispered to her, smiling. “The themes of his treachery always repeat. He can’t help himself.”
When they reached the center of the maze, there was a hue and cry.
“Ah, the revelers have come,” Shirikant said, letting the girl wander freely in the center of the maze. A small fountain splashed in the center with a low bench encircling it. He seated himself. “He’ll find you soon, I think.”
“Does he know the way?” the Seneschal’s daughter asked.
“No. The ways have been changed since he was a boy. But he is clever, do not worry. Have you enjoyed your stay among the Moussion, my lady?”
“Very much, thank you. But I long to return to my home.”
“I know you do. Well, my dear, there is one more tradition of the Moussion that I failed to mention.” He stood and approached her. “The king of the country must kiss the bride before her wedding night. It’s an ancient tradition and awkward considering I am now your brother. A kiss on the cheek will suffice.”
The Seneschal stared coldly at the two. “He tries to deceive her,” he whispered to Phae. “He knows about the Dryad kiss. He’s secretly read all of Prince Isic’s notes about Druidecht lore.”
Phae clenched her fists, staring at the two.
The Seneschal’s daughter looked at Shirikant skeptically. “I would rather not.”
A bulge of muscle clenched in Shirikant’s cheek. “Come, my dear. It’s just a formality.” He stepped closer to her, his shadow falling over her face.
She retreated from him, her brow furrowing.
The sound of the revelers was loud, trying to drown out the sound of Prince Isic’s calls to his beloved. Phae’s stomach twisted with sickness. She wanted to scream and warn her to flee.
“Are you afraid?” Shirikant said, his voice dropping low. “There’s no need to fear me.”
“Your words belie the feelings in my heart,” she answered. “I will go to my husband now.” She turned on her heel to escape.
“No!” he snarled, grabbing her by the elbow. His face was frantic.
She looked at his hand gripping her arm. A crinkle of doubt and worry spread across her features. “Release me,” she ordered.
“You must wait for him here,” he said, placatingly, but his voice trembled with emotion. “Don’t ruin the tradition, Sister.”
“Let go,” she ordered, pulling against his grip, but it was iron.
Phae’s stomach clenched with dread. She felt specks of dizziness surround her. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.
Shirikant looked desperate to maintain control of the situation. “Come sit by the fountain,” he offered. “It’s a silly tradition. We can ignore it if you wish. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Come . . . sit.”
She pulled on her arm again, her look growing more determined. “You hold me against my will. Why?”
He licked his lips, his eyes blazing with emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m ruining everything. Come sit by the fountain. I’ll fetch your husband myself.” He gently, but firmly, pulled her toward the bench.
“Aristaios,” she said, looking him full in the eyes.
He gazed at her, his brows crinkling.
Then she blinked.
He stood dumbfounded, his eyes blinking rapidly. His hands fell to his sides.
She fled the hedge maze, calling out Prince Isic’s name in a panic. Phae squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the gasp of outrage and fear coming from Shirikant. A gurgled noise passed his lips as he pursued her. Phae buried her face into the Seneschal’s arm, fraught with tension, waiting for the moment.
There was a scream of fright, a startled cry of pain.
“She is dead,” the Seneschal whispered, pressing a kiss against Phae’s hair.