“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.

A feeling of raw hatred blazed up from a deep, deep well shaft in his soul. The feelings that exploded inside him drove all thoughts from his mind except one—Kiranrao must die. His treachery could not go unpunished.

He invoked the power of the Sword of Winds and rushed after the murderer.

“Paedrin, no!” Hettie shrieked.

She would not be able to keep up with him, nor did he want her to. This revenge was for him to exact. He would hunt him down. He would chase him to Havenrook or farther. Kiranrao was a dead man. There was no way he could outrun Paedrin.

“Hasten!”

He heard the word barked with a loud, commanding voice. It was clearly Tyrus’s warning to come back. What did it matter now? The Tay al-Ard hadn’t worked when they were attacked; it wouldn’t work now. What point was there to obeying him? They had failed. All was lost.

He heard Hettie screaming, but he dodged through the massive oak trees, rushing past them like a breeze himself, the sword held poised, his body spread like a hawk. He saw Kiranrao sprinting ahead and began to close on him.

The screaming went silent.

Paedrin felt a branch slash his cheek as he ventured too near it. The boiling fury inside him began to subside.

What had happened? Was the Tay al-Ard working after all? Why had Hettie’s screaming stopped?

The woods were dark and menacing, each way looking like the one before, interspersed with ravines and stunted stumps. As he swooped down on Kiranrao, the Romani suddenly vanished in a plume of shadowy smoke.