Phae stared at him coldly. “Take me there. Now.”

“No eulogy is due to him who simply does his duty and nothing more.”

—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

Tyrus stared at Phae for several moments, unable to speak. The shifting emotions finally settled to a look of determination. His eyes were flecked with spurs of gold. The gray streaks in his beard and temples seemed to spread with the weight of his concerns.

He shook his head no. “Impossible.”

Phae came to her feet, her emotions raw with fury. Her fingertips tingled with prickles of heat. “You would drag me to my death in the Scourgelands, but you will not let me see my mother? As if Kenatos were not the place to fear instead of the Scourgelands? You have some twisted magic that allows you to go from place to place. Surely it can bring us there?”

She caught the Vaettir prince’s look of outrage at her insolence, but she ignored him. Tyrus allowed her to loom over him. He did not meet her anger with his own. “For your own safety, I cannot allow it.”

“My safety?” Phae said, her voice shrill. She was cornered on all sides. These men in her life had all accosted her, threatened to or did abduct her against her will. She was furious. It roared to life inside her like a demon. “Is it safe to enter the Scourgelands? Everyone else you brought there died. What will make this time any different?”

Tyrus bowed his head, staring down at the lamp. “Sit down, Phae.”

She covered her face with her hands, wanting to pound her fists into his chest. She wanted to kick the lantern and scream at all of them. She choked on her emotions. “Tell me why,” she said with a savage voice. “If I must go into the wilderness with you, if I must bond with a tree as you say, then tell me why I cannot see my mother.” Her breathing increased. She started to pace inside the thickly-shadowed cell.

The Kishion put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She looked up at his face, saw the hard look there—but it was not focused on her this time.

He gazed down at Tyrus. “The Arch-Rike knows of the Dryad in the tree,” he said. “It is already weak from living in the city. He gave the order to have it cut down.”

“No!” Phae gasped, clutching the Kishion’s tunic.

He nodded. “I did not understand the reason, other than revenge, but the Arch-Rike cannot allow a portal to exist inside the city that he does not control. He is very careful who is allowed to use the gateways or where they can be entered from. It may take a few days for the order to be carried out, but I fear it is done by now.”

Phae turned from the Kishion to her father, her heart despairing. “You cannot abandon her!”

Tyrus looked up, his face lined with a deep scowl. His eyes were haunted. “We knew the risks,” he whispered. He shook his head. “I cannot shield her from the Arch-Rike’s wrath as I wish to.” His shoulders slumped. “You do not understand, child, what it cost her—what it cost us both to give you up. I would prefer another dagger thrust than to experience this pain. We knew a sacrifice would be necessary. Her instincts require her to provide a replacement for herself. She gave that up to try to save generations yet unborn. That has been my chief desire as well. I do not do this for glory or for fame. My only ambition is to correct the injury that was done in the past. No one forces me to do this. Believe me, it would have been far easier to quit long ago.” He gazed into her eyes fiercely. “The tree is not destroyed yet. I know it is not, because I still share a connection with her. She is in peril. I can feel that. She is surrounded by enemies. But if we go to her now, and if we are detected, you know the Arch-Rike will destroy her in a hurricane of magic. He will use her against me. That is his nature. I will honor the sacrifice she made, though it pains me to my soul.”

Phae stared at him, overcome with grief. “So he will kill her tree for certain if we go?”

Tyrus nodded. “I believe so.”

Phae crumpled and sat down on the floor, all her energy gushing out of her. “How can I know this is even true then? Your excuses are believable, if not convenient.”

Her father laughed bitterly. “The truth isn’t often that way, I’m afraid. However, I propose an alternative.”

She licked her lips, her heart too heavy to speak. She shrugged.

“There are others aiding in this quest. One is a young Druidecht, not much older than you. He is the son of Merinda Druidecht who I mentioned before. He protected a Dryad tree in the woods of Silvandom and earned her trust. She could teach you about your heritage.” He reached out and drew a circle on the dirt floor with his finger. “Would that help convince you?”