Tyrus nodded again. “I don’t have one of those rings the Rikes wear, Baylen. I’ve learned that it isn’t wise to trust a man by his words alone. I was just asking.” Then turning his look to Prince Aransetis, the Vaettir lord, he nodded deferentially. Aransetis wore the black cassock of a Rike, which gave him an incongruous appearance amidst them, especially in light of her father’s last question. Though Tyrus said nothing, the Prince understood his meaning.
“My name is Aransetis,” he said in a distinctly formal tone. Phae had first met him in the barn at the Winemiller orphanage in Stonehollow where he had tracked her down. He had warned her that her life was in danger and had tried to persuade Master Winemiller to let her accompany him to safety. The natural distrust of those from Stonehollow had thwarted his effort, and she had managed to sneak away that night. She shook her head with the memories that followed, glancing at Shion, who stared fixedly at the Prince.
“I am from one of the noble houses of Silvandom and my family has been allies of Tyrus for many years. We sent three Bhikhu with Tyrus the last time, one of them being my brother. I was a young man myself at the time and believed in the quest to rid the world of plague. I was not allowed to go and grieved when I learned what happened. I decided at that moment that I would train to kill that I might be useful if a second attempt was made.”
His eyes shone with intensity, his frown a sign of dark strength. “I trained to protect Tyrus’s daughter.” His gaze met hers and she felt a shiver run through her. “To give my life so that she might reach the center of that hideous maze. I gladly step aside, relinquishing that role to someone better suited than I. Many of you have asked me why I wear these black robes. The answer is simple. To better understand the cunning mind of our enemy, the Arch-Rike. Like Tyrus, I suspected Lukias was a traitor among us. I did not recognize that he was the Arch-Rike himself. Because of that betrayal, I suspect each one of you of deception. I will be watching you closely. Expect that.”
Kiranrao snorted. “This speech is supposed to help us trust one another? Even black hens lay white eggs.”
Aransetis frowned at the comment, but Tyrus held up his hand. “Have a care, Kiranrao. We just watched the Thirteen of Canton Vaud get murdered by the Arch-Rike and we took the blame for it. Trust is improved when we understand one another’s motives. Prince Aransetis is explaining his rather candidly.”
“And so are you?” Kiranrao challenged.
“You heard my speech to the Thirteen,” Tyrus replied heatedly. “My motives have ever been the same. The Arch-Rike ascribes it to a lust for glory and fame. As you no doubt have realized, we will get very little of that if we succeed. Khiara—what about you?”
The Vaettir girl did not raise her eyes but continued to stare down at her hands. “A Shaliah is a healer. My purpose is to keep you all alive. Had I been there, Declan would have survived and you might have made a different decision.” She sighed, her voice trailing off very softly. “I go where my cousin goes.”
Phae saw the unmistakable flush in the girl’s cheeks and her heart throbbed with pity. Khiara was in love with her cousin, Prince Aransetis. It was painful to look at, for it reminded her of her own feelings for Trasen. As a Dryad-born, she had erased all of Trasen’s memories of their time together because the Arch-Rike was using him to hunt her. Khiara’s feelings were simple and uncomplicated.
But Phae could see that Prince Aransetis did not reciprocate them. His jaw clenched at her mumbled words, his stern expression becoming even more so.
“Thank you, Khiara,” Tyrus said. “We are grateful you are with us. Without you, we cannot succeed.” He said a few words in the Vaettir tongue, which Phae could not understand. Khiara sat as still as a stone, saying nothing in return.
“Annon.”
The young Druidecht was only a little older than Phae, but he seemed to have aged in the hours since the destruction inside Canton Vaud. He had connected with a Dryad in the woods of Silvandom and her tree had been destroyed by the Arch-Rike shortly after the death of his masters—the Thirteen. He absently stroked the fur of a spirit creature nestled in the grass next to him, a big cat named Nizeera.