“Do names hold such power? Then I give you power over me,” he answered. “My name is Isic Moussion. I am from Stonehollow. Are you from Mirrowen?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of spirit are you? You have a lovely voice. A sparrow perhaps?”

Phae thought about his name—the name of his race. Moussion. So very near to Shion. How strange. She felt a prick of jealousy listening to their conversation. It was an uncomfortable squirming feeling inside her breast.

The girl laughed. “I’m not a bird. I’m Dryad-born. I am mortal, like you.”

“Tell me of your race,” he pleaded. “You are the guardians of the woods?”

“We are the guardians of the portals to Mirrowen.” She stayed half-hidden behind the tree, well beyond his reach in case he tried to grab her.

“I won’t harm you,” he said softly. “Tell me of your people. Why do you steal our memories?”

“Why do you cut down our trees? Why do you spoil the forests? Why do you kill and spoil for sport?”

“I do not do those things,” Shion said, affronted. “I am Druidecht. I protect the woods.”

“I know. But you asked why the Dryads steal memories. To protect ourselves from mortals who would harm or steal our secrets. We guard the mysteries of Mirrowen, Isic. Do you seek them?”

“I do. It is why I came.”

“Take off your blindfold.”

Shion stiffened. “I would rather not.”

“Don’t you want to see me?”

“Yes, but I know if I look at you, I will forget. I don’t want to forget you, Dryad. You have the most lovely voice. It tortures me that I cannot see you.”

She laughed softly. “You are doing well, Isic. You are enduring the effects of my magic. A little longer and it will get easier.”

“Talking helps distract my mind,” Shion said. “Tell me of the Gardener?”

“He is called the Seneschal. He is the oldest servant. He is the master of Mirrowen because he is the servant of this world. He is . . . he is my father.”

Shion started, turning to look back at her, even though he was blindfolded. “I would meet him, Dryad. Can you bring me to him?”

“No,” she answered. “I cannot bring a mortal there through this tree. There is a bridge to Mirrowen nearby. Beyond this grove, there is a large mound of stone, with broken fissures and caves. If you follow the whispers from my father, you will reach the bridge in the center of the rocks. You must know the name in order to cross, but you cannot write it down. Do you agree, Isic? Will you safeguard the name?”

He sat up, his face growing quite excited. “I do swear it on the soul of my father—”

“No need to swear on anything,” she interrupted. “I just need your oath.”

He looked confused, but nodded in agreement. “Yes, I swear it.”

“The portal’s name is Pontfadog. I must warn you, Isic. There is a spirit guarding the portal, a powerful spirit. That is its name. By knowing it, you will gain mastery over it, and it will permit you to cross. It has the power to unleash great plagues, Isic. It will infect you with one while crossing it. But in Mirrowen, there is a tree that can heal any plague. That spirit is the final protection of Mirrowen. This guardian is powerful enough to defeat entire armies. Even if an entire kingdom tried to force their way into its lair, it could unleash a plague that would destroy them all. Only with the name can you pass it. My tree is the guardian of the name.”

Shion swallowed. Phae could see the sweat streaming down his face, making the blindfold damp. “Why are you telling me this? Why reveal it to me?”

“You could only have come here if you followed the whispers of my father. He brought you to my tree. My duty is to tell you the name of the spirit. Go on to Mirrowen, Isic. My father is a just and righteous being. He is one of the Unwearying Ones who guard and protect this world. Ask a boon of him. Farewell, Isic. You may look at me if you wish. I will not steal your memories now.”

“Do you promise?”

“I am the Seneschal’s daughter, Isic. I cannot lie.”

He hurriedly untied the blindfold and crumpled it in his hands. Turning slowly, he gazed around, looking at the forest floor, the scrub and nest of dead oak leaves and twigs. He saw the hem of her robe and her bare feet poking from the hem. She still clutched the tree, clinging to it as a protection.

Shion gazed at her, his expression softening as he met her gaze.

“Will you not tell me your name?” he pleaded.