Paedrin grasped Hettie’s hand and pulled her with him after the others. Even Annon followed, blood streaming down his face from the Fear Liath’s wound.
They arrived at a broken oak tree choked with mistletoe. One of the tree’s massive branches had cracked off. Next to it, Shion knelt, holding Phae in his arms. He was stroking her leaf-strewn hair, shaking his head, the look of abject misery on his horror-stricken face.
Khiara knelt nearby, her hand on Phae’s brow, shaking her head. “I cannot heal her.”
Paedrin squeezed Hettie’s hand, tears pricking his eyes at the sight.
Annon stared at the scene with mute grief. His heart ached, seeing the lifeless pallor on Phae’s ashen cheeks. There was no breath. Her arms were limp in Shion’s embrace, dragging on the earth floor. He took a tentative step forward, overwhelmed by his emotions—overwhelmed at seeing the grief on Shion’s face, the quivering mouth contorted with anguish, the brooding and haunted look in the eyes. The eyes especially, Annon knew firsthand, revealed the true torture of someone’s soul. Annon knew of that kind of pain personally and felt empathy overshadow him. Everything they had fought for was over. The quest had failed. It struck him so deeply that he felt like weeping. Tyrus shook his head in rock-hard determination, unwilling to submit to the brutal truth.
Kiranrao, almost in amazement, wandered up and stared down at Phae’s body, as if not believing what he saw. “She is dead,” he said tonelessly. Then he turned to Tyrus, his expression hardening with rage. “You failed again.”
The impact of his words seemed to strike like thunder.
Tyrus looked haunted, his face a mask of blood, debris, and coalescing sadness and misery. They were all blood-spattered and exhausted.
“We go on,” Tyrus announced, his voice cracking.
Kiranrao stared at him as if he were mad.
“If we find the center, we can use the Tay al-Ard to come out again. With that knowledge and with the Tay al-Ard, one of us can . . . in the future . . . we can come back . . . if we know . . . if we know where it is.” He was stuttering, his words blurring together.
Kiranrao spat on the ground. “I am not spending another cursed moment here! We flee and when the Tay al-Ard is no longer spent, we leave.”
“We go on,” Tyrus stammered. “I will not . . . there will be no . . .”
Suddenly Kiranrao moved in a blur, grabbing Khiara around the neck and dragging her to her feet, holding the dagger to her side.
Annon was startled, staring in horror as the Romani backed away from them, taking Khiara with him. Her eyes were calm, not frantic, which surprised him.
“Stop!” Hettie shouted. “By the Fates, Kiranrao, let her go!”
“We’re leaving, Hettie,” Kiranrao crooned. “The three of us are leaving this cesspool right now. Come, girl. I know you’ve stolen the device already. I saw you snatch it. We depart now.”
Annon stared at his sister in shock.
“Leave her with them then, Kiranrao,” Hettie said. “I will go with you, but leave her with them.”
The Romani clucked his tongue. “Who pays the piper, calls the tune. Come, Hettie. Now.”
“Kiranrao, you won’t escape here,” Tyrus said. “The trees will subvert you. Let her go.”
The Romani laughed disdainfully. “I’m tired of playing your games, Paracelsus. You betrayed me. Vengeance is the price. You will die here as you should have died before.”
“You won’t make it out of here alive,” Tyrus said.
“Come, Hettie!” Kiranrao snarled.
She hesitated, her head swaying no.
Kiranrao frowned with a look of hatred and then stabbed Khiara in the side with the blade Iddawc. Annon watched her life snuff out and she crumpled to the forest floor. Kiranrao turned and fled.
“We are betrayed. The bells of the city are tolling. We do not know how, but the barbarians are inside the city. Fires burn in the western ports. Ships have been stolen and sail across the lake to ferry across more invaders. The citizens are fleeing to the Arch-Rike’s temple for protection. I’ve tried to summon a guard to defend the books but none are coming. The Bhikhu fight in the streets. All is madness.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXII
When Paedrin saw Khiara fall dead to the ground, stabbed by the blade, something broke inside of him. She was an innocent victim, had done nothing in the world to provoke or insult Kiranrao, yet she was the one who had been murdered. And the reason was brutally clear. Kiranrao knew they would not survive without her healing powers.
A well of grief opened up inside of him, unimaginable in its depths. Khiara had suffered alongside them, never complaining. Her knowledge and compassion had brought great benefit. She was quiet and shy, always glancing with unacknowledged love at Prince Aransetis. She did not deserve such a fate.