The Seneschal took Phae next to Stonehollow, back to the castle where she had first laid eyes on Shion. He was wrapped in heavy blankets, sitting on the window seat. Daylight illuminated his face and streaks of water came down outside as the rain lashed against the panes. His face was nearly healed, but she could see the puckered scars still livid and young with tender flesh.

In his lap, he had a book and she could see him sketching on the pages. One was the profile of a girl, a picture he had been working on for some time. As Phae looked at the page, she saw the face, the nose, the calm eyes of the Dryad from the tree. Next to the image, he had fashioned a circle with the Druidecht symbol represented. There was a thick circle in the middle followed by six designs, each with three points that budded from the center circle like a wreath of flowers. Another circle enclosed them all. He stared at the symbol, running his finger on it.

“Why did he draw the Druidecht symbol?” Phae asked the Seneschal.

“He’s inventing it,” came the reply. “Notice that he’s not wearing a talisman. Nor did the Druidecht you saw coming up the road. It’s an idea that came from him. He’s going to work with a blacksmith and forge one before returning to the woods. He wants to be able to focus his thoughts, and having the symbol will help him.”

“So he invented the talisman then?” Phae asked, startled.

“Oh yes. Here is the conversation you must hear. His brother comes.”

There was a gust of wind as the door opened and Shirikant entered the room. He was wearing an elegant tunic with intricate stitch work. It contrasted to Shion’s more humble garb. Even though he was a nobleman himself, Shion looked the part of the Druidecht and seemed uncomfortable being ostentatious. Quite the opposite for his brother. He approached Shion and stood behind him, watching him sketch with the nub of charcoal. The king waited patiently.

Shion blew on the page, staring at the symbol he had drawn. His fingers were smudged black.

“Are you certain you want to go back?” Shirikant said softly, his voice concerned. “I won’t make you, Brother. I will face the dangers alone, if I must. You’ve suffered so much already.”

Shion smoothed the paper. “I must return. I owe that Romani trader a king’s ransom for saving my life, yet he will not accept it. I promised to sing for him and his wife. That was the only compensation he would accept. He has a great voice, Brother.”

“Better than yours?” Shirikant said with a smile. “I don’t believe it.”

“He can tame beasts with his voice. But it’s not his voice that does it.” He leaned his head against the glass. “He loves his wife. Her name is Morganne. What they have between them . . . what they have is stronger than death. It’s stronger than fear. I told you that I heard a voice in a mind while I was nearly dead on the road. Perfect love is more powerful than fear.” He swallowed, staring at the drips of rain. “I love her, Brother.”

Shirikant was silent a moment. “The girl at the tree. The girl who told you about the bridge to Mirrowen.”

“She warned me not to try to save Kishion and the rest. If I had listened to her . . .” He scrunched up his face. “I cannot undo the past. What she told me of the Seneschal. The Gardener. I want to go to Mirrowen, Brother. I want to be welcomed there.” He sighed again and set the book down on the seat. “You shared with me the histories. Of mighty men who wanted to father a new race. You have that desire, Brother. I do not. I want to be welcome in Mirrowen. I want to be able to travel between both worlds. I want to serve the Gardener. He’s a Druidecht, I think. He’s the founder of the Druidecht. I wish to serve him. And if he will let me, I wish to marry his daughter.” He looked down at his hands. “Am I a fool?”

Shirikant rested his hand on Shion’s shoulder, making Phae’s skin crawl. The look in his eyes was genuine, though. She had expected to see a man brooding with evil, but the two were obviously very close and connected. The older brother had different ambitions. But they balanced each other. The respect was mutual.

“I’m not sure what to say, Isic. You could have any girl in Stonehollow, despite the ragged scars.” Shion flinched at the words, but the grip on his shoulder increased. “I don’t jest, Brother. Your survival will be sung about for a thousand years. What you endured seeking the portal to Mirrowen. I am routinely pressured to force you to marry one of your many admirers. Your injuries did not impact your singing. If anything, it made your music even more potent and haunting.”

“I can’t take credit for that,” Shion said. “The Romani are the best musicians, I’ve learned.”