“We are quite different,” Shion said flatly, walking forward deliberately. Phae did not hold back. She went with him, coming closer, wanting to connect with Shirikant’s eyes, but he would not look at her. He ignored her, turning the full force of his menacing eyes on his brother.
“So different,” Shirikant repeated. “How so, Brother? We are born of the same womb. We share the same immortality. You’ve served me for so long—your entire life! Why quit now? I’m close to undoing everything, to remake this world. So very close. I’ve set it all in motion. You cannot stop it.”
“I can, and I will,” Shion said coldly. “You are a usurper. Your throne is stolen. You cannot create, you can only destroy. You are of the Void, Brother. I will stop you.”
The feeling of tension in the smoky chamber intensified the dread. Phae felt as if dark shapes appeared at the corner of her vision, flickers of shadows. They weren’t alone. She felt as if someone stood beside her and the hairs on her arms pricked. As if someone were reaching to touch her and that touch would destroy her.
“How?” Shirikant said, chuckling darkly. “The Seneschal will stop me? He has done nothing these last ages. He can do nothing with the gate closed. He does nothing, but stride elegantly and spew platitudes, and shackle everyone into his own form of bondage. Mine at least is fixed for a season. There are terms and agreements. There is an end to the servitude. I would not wish to be an Unwearying One now. You are a slave, Isic.”
“I was your slave,” Shion replied coldly. “How could you do that to your own brother? What did I ever do to you to earn such contempt? I was loyal to you. We were the first mastermind. You and I. Look what you’ve become.”
“Look what I’ve become?” Shirikant said with a nasty twist in his expression, his cheeks quivering with rage. “I’ve remade this world. I built Kenatos. It’s no different than Mirrowen. I have chiseled and scraped every single reference, every mention of Mirrowen and its decrepit Seneschal from every book throughout the world. There is no mention of him anywhere. Not even the sad Druidecht order—your order!—remember him any longer. He’s nothing more than a myth and only the Dryads know of him. No mortal has trod this bridge since we did. And no one ever will again.”
Shion shook his head, standing across the bubbling cauldron of quicksilver from his brother, the greenish light playing across both their faces.
“You cannot erase the Seneschal,” Shion said simply. “In the winter, every tree appears to be dead. He’s allowed you to reign during this particular winter, Brother. But the spring comes and thaws the snow. The buds form on the trees again. Except the truly dead ones. Except for yours. You are known in Boeotia as a traitor and a deceiver. Your legend will spread throughout every land and kingdom until your title becomes a curse on men’s lips. It is over, Brother. I bring you to justice. I am taking you with me to Mirrowen.”
The look in Shirikant’s eyes went silver with hatred. “Never!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
“You betrayed your own blood. You betrayed your own heart. Because of what? Jealousy? Because the Seneschal chose to honor me above you because he discerned the variance in our motives? Because he saw what you would become?”
“He sees nothing!” Shirikant shrieked. His fingers gripped the Tay al-Ard so tightly it seemed the metal would rend in his hand. “I hate him! I hate you! Would I could drown you in this boiling pool! I would choke your last breath with my hands.”
“You’ve tried,” Shion said, his own cheek twitching. “How many ways and how many times have you tried to murder me, Brother? You’ve buried me in stone. You’ve chained me to the bottom of the lake. I remember it all now. To hide your guilt and shame? It festers inside you like a wound that will not heal. It cannot heal now, Brother. There is no spell, no balm that can save you now. You are like the Void, constantly hammering against the defenses. And that is where you will be chained. It is your punishment, Brother. I could not prevent it even if I desired mercy. And I do not. I don’t hate you—”
“Do not spit your pity at me!” Shirikant screamed.
“I have no pity for you. You knew what you did when you spoke to that serpent. You deceived yourself before you deceived us all. You never knew what it was to fail. You knew pride, never meekness. You were jealous in the end. What a petty emotion, Brother. It’s a filthy broth that will not nourish. You will accept no one to rule over you. So you will inherit a kingdom of chaos.”
The silence that followed sent shivers of dread through Phae’s heart. The blackness seemed to gather around them, drawn into a vortex of hatred and loathing.