Hettie knelt by him, her eyes wet with tears. She shook her head fiercely. “You didn’t kill my mother. You saved her life. You did everything you could.” She cupped his sweating face with her hand. “You gave everything, Uncle. I won’t let you die.”
She took her water flask and pressed it to his mouth. He spat it back at her, swearing violently, choking with rage and helplessness. Baylen torqued Tyrus’s arm viciously and his head arched back, mouth wide in a soundless scream. Hettie poured more of the liquid from the flask into his mouth and then Baylen released the chokehold and clamped his hand on Tyrus’s mouth. Paedrin crouched nearby, his heart breaking with pity.
The three knelt by Tyrus as he lay panting, chest heaving. He started to weep, great choking sobs that split the air like thunder. He lay crumpled and defeated, unable to move, unable to fight, unable to rage. He sobbed, the sound a hymn of mourning and desolation so fitting for the Scourgelands.
Paedrin squatted nearby, wiping tears from his own eyes, watching the mighty Paracelsus with overpowering pity.
Hettie raised Tyrus’s head, resting it on her lap, and she stroked his hair, whistling softly. Baylen sat nearby, struggling to regain his own strength from the contest. He wiped a smear of blood from his chin, shaking his head sadly.
Hettie cooed softly, bending low. “I won’t leave you,” she whispered to him. “I won’t abandon you.”
“To your father,” the Seneschal said. His magic enveloped her and Shion and they rose with his inhaled breath up the chasm of broken rock to the top of the plateau. As they emerged from the crags of shattered stone, Phae watched the whorl of stormy clouds dispersing, exposing streaks of stabbing sunlight. She blinked, covering her eyes with her hand for a moment. As she looked, she saw her father sprawled on the ground, with Hettie, Paedrin, and Baylen crouching near him. He lifted his head as she approached him, her heart shuddering with relief at seeing them all alive.
“Phae?” Tyrus said hoarsely, his eyes clear and focused.
“He’s mad,” Hettie said forlornly, her eyes streaked with tears.
Tyrus pulled himself up slowly, his muscles trembling with extreme exhaustion. “No, my thoughts are clearing.” He shuddered, trying to stand, but he was too weak to manage it. He shook his head, blinking rapidly.
“Yes, you are, Uncle,” Hettie said. “You used the fireblood too much. You were raging a moment ago.”
“I was,” Tyrus said, nodding emphatically. His eyes were reflective, calm. “My thoughts are clearing like those storm clouds. Phae? Is that you? Shion?”
Phae rushed forward and sank down on her knees, drawing Tyrus into her arms. “The madness is banished,” she announced to everyone, her heart throbbing with joy. “The curse of the fireblood is no more. The Plague has ended. Father, it is over. You triumphed!” She cupped his cheek tenderly. “You were right. You did not know all of what happened in the past, but you figured out so much on your own. You’ve been hearing the whispers from Mirrowen all along. They brought you here. They brought you here to heal the land.”
She felt wetness on his back and when she pulled her hand back saw the drops of blood sticking to her fingers. His face was pale, his strength fading with each breath. His body was full of gashes and wounds. She withdrew the strange, moss-like plant from Mirrowen from a pouch at her side and pressed it against Tyrus’s back. She felt her father tense with surprise as the magic coursed through him, closing his savage cuts and healing his wounds and his weariness. Color came back to his cheeks.
She stared at him, stroking his face, smiling through her tears. “Father, we defeated Shirikant! Shion was the one who destroyed the Plague. His memories are restored. I know him now, I know about our race . . . about the history of our family.” She bowed her head, unable to speak all that was in her heart, realizing that her time with him was not ending, only beginning—that their time together would be lasting. “You were right in what you chose, Father. All that you sacrificed, all that you surrendered to succeed. It was worth all the hardships! The Plagues have ended. We were immune because of who we are. We’re descendants of Shirikant, Father. And we now have a destiny to prevent this evil from returning.”
I will speak with him
Phae felt the whisper as it rushed through her heart. She rose, drawing her father up with her. She held him close, burying her face in his chest, feeling his strength but trying to suffuse part of hers into him again. She gripped his hands and then turned, facing Shion and the Seneschal.
“Father, this is the Seneschal of Mirrowen. There is a task he will give you. I know him, Father. Our family must reverse the evils caused by our ancestor.”
Tyrus stared at Shion, seeing the change that had overcome his countenance, the steadiness and confidence. The compassion. She could see Tyrus’s eyes noticing the talisman around Shion’s neck. Then he faced the Seneschal. Slowly, Tyrus eased down on one knee.
“What would you have me do?” he whispered.