Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

A tortured, painful smile hovered on Tyrus’s face. “I did. She is my greatest secret. She is the key to solving the riddle. She is everything. And she has no idea who she is.”

Annon stared at him, aghast. “You forced the tree Dryad to…”

Tyrus’s expression hardened like flint. “No, Annon. I did not force her. You know more about Dryad lore than most Druidecht do. Your soul revolts against the idea, doesn’t it? To take a defenseless creature, one who has trusted you with her name, and to abuse that trust. Only a twisted man would do that. I think that something along those lines happened up in the Scourgelands. Those oaks are ancient beyond any reckoning. They have long memories. They hate us. It is clear. There was a wrong done. A betrayal. I seek to mend it. To correct it. I explained my theory to the Dryad. I explained what I intended to do. Only a Dryad not bound to a tree could enter the Scourgelands. Only a Dryad could bind to those trees and learn the mystery. She agreed willingly.”

Erasmus took a piece of cheese and ate it slowly. “Under the Arch-Rike’s very nose. He would be furious, Tyrus. You are brilliant.”

Tyrus shook his head. “No. I am determined. I relied on others far wiser than myself. Drosta, for one. He knew the truth about the gilded prison of Kenatos. He managed to escape it as well. I am bound to that tree in the Paracelsus Towers just as she is bound to me. The Dryads have a ceremony for when it is time to reproduce their kind. They choose their mates. I was chosen. In our culture, when a man and woman marry, they wear a ring on their finger as a symbol of their union. When a Dryad chooses a mortal, she wears a bracelet around her ankle until the man is dead. It is an ancient custom. She does not choose a man very often. Only when she senses a need to reproduce her kind. The Dryad in the tower is my wife. I never forced her. Annon—what you need to understand is that I do have a daughter.”

Annon nodded slowly. He understood that each kingdom had its own tradition of marriage. It was even so among the Druidecht. Why should the immortals be any different?

“Where is she?” Annon asked.

“Stonehollow. That is where my family came from. It is where those of the fireblood came from. Our people, Annon. I knew that I would not be able to seek her out and teach her what she needed to know. I entrusted her to people who would protect her and teach her at the right time. She was to be raised an orphan. She is sixteen. She is the age when she must choose whether or not to bond with a tree. The stones I sent Hettie after are the way she will be found. She should have a necklace with a blue stone embedded in it. The other stones will be drawn to it. That is the only way I can find her.”

Erasmus sat on the bench, playing with an apricot. “Stonehollow is almost beyond the Arch-Rike’s reach. They are wary people and slow to trust outsiders. A wise location.”

“Thank you,” Tyrus said. He then reached across the table and rested his hand on Annon’s. The gesture was remarkably tender. “I cannot tell you how it relieves me to share this burden with someone else. If the Kishion had killed me, the secret would have been lost for another generation or two. The Plague will come again. This may be the chance to stop it. I know you have hated and despised me, Annon. I have not been a good father or a good uncle. I accepted this when I decided to enter the prison of Kenatos. To be honest, you were the one who first gave me an idea of the solution.”

Annon was startled. “What do you mean? How could I have possibly done that? We have hardly ever met.”

“I know. But you marked me deeply, Annon. I once heard a Rike say something that described the experience I had at your birth. It was spoken at the marriage ceremony he conducted for two love-struck fools who were poor enough to be truly pitied. He said this after commissioning them to start a family without delay. Parents—be they Vaettir, Cruithne, or Aeduan—realize that the most powerful combination of emotions in the world is not called out by any grand celestial event, nor is it found in archives or histories. The most powerful combination of emotions is caused merely by a parent gazing down upon a sleeping child.”

Tyrus paused, his voice thickening. “I cannot tell you the anguish and torture it was to let Hettie be stolen by that Romani midwife. I hated myself for not predicting it. I helped you enter this world and was the first to hold you. Your father was a good man. He trusted me. He lost his life because of me. As I watched you sleep for the first time, curled near your mother’s breast, I felt a surge of emotions that were completely alien to me. It was that experience which helped me understand that I needed to be willing to sacrifice something important in order to repair the damage of the Plague. A child would be required. A Dryad child to bond with a tree in the Scourgelands and learn the truth about the past. How could I ask that sacrifice of anyone else other than myself? How could I expect a mother to suppress her feelings if I was not willing to? You see it all now, Annon. You see my secret. You know my plan. The Arch-Rike realizes I am up to some mischief. He has no idea what. By telling you both what I have, I increase the odds of my success.”