Dryad-Born(20)

—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos





When Hettie and Paedrin emerged from the Dryad tree in the midst of the Paracelsus Towers in Kenatos, it was crowded with workers intent on rebuilding the broken edifice. The transfer from the Prince’s garden in Silvandom had been instantaneous and it was early in the day still, though crowded and full of dust. Scaffolding had been erected throughout the inner courtyard and workers of all types carted wheelbarrows, baskets of chisels, and fragments of stone. Dung from cart animals littered the way, bringing with them the buzzing of flies and the smell of manure.

Paedrin stood gawking at the commotion in the inner courtyard and Hettie grabbed his sleeve and tugged at him impatiently. He had no idea how to blend in with a crowd or make himself unseen.

“Stop staring,” Hettie whispered. “It makes us conspicuous. We need to get out of this courtyard. The gate is over there. Haven’t you been here before?”

He jerked his arm away from her, but he did follow her to the gate leaving the tower courtyard. There were individuals up on the scaffold already, hammering fragments of stone and rubble away to prepare neat flat surfaces for the replacement stones. As they passed outside the gateway, Hettie saw the Cruithne soldier look at her and Paedrin, his eyes narrowing. So many people passed the gates day after day. Would he recognize her as Tyrus’s niece? She had to assume so.

“Faster,” Hettie murmured, increasing her pace. Her ears were frantic for the sound of pursuit. Her heart raced with panic. It was a bold move coming to Kenatos after what had just happened in Silvandom. However, it would be the last place the Arch-Rike would suspect them to go.

Outside the gate, an enormous wooden structure had been erected, with long beams fastened to it and rigged with counterweights. The structure was as tall as the outer wall and reminded her of the equipment used at the docks to unload ships. There were numerous workers around it, mostly burly Cruithne who were managing the chains and ropes and counterweights. It was impressive how quickly the repair was underway. The city was truly a hive of activity.

“I did not know there was a Dryad tree in the midst of Tyrus’s tower,” Paedrin said. “It did not even seem alive. Few if any leaves.”

“Are we speaking to each other again?” Hettie asked with an edge of anger in her voice, but she kept it low. “I was under the impression you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“You understand correctly,” he answered. The look in his eye was full of venom. “I was making an observation.”

“You are too simple, Paedrin,” she said. “For all your talk of the Uddhava and anticipating motives, it stings that you were outwitted. Your pride is injured. Pain is a teacher. But Tyrus thought we would be more successful working together.” They were both walking at a very fast pace, heading down from the tower heights toward the Bhikhu temple.

“Working together would require trust, which is something we lack between us right now. At least I lack it. Perhaps in your culture, it is acceptable to betray someone and then continue on as if nothing happened. Maybe you feel you deserve praise for doing such a wonderful job?”

“Am I the only one who betrayed us, Paedrin? You led the Arch-Rike and his men into Silvandom to destroy us.”

The look he gave her in a short glance showed the depth of his humiliation and pain. It was too raw a wound still. She should not have pecked at it.

“You are such a fool, Bhikhu,” she muttered angrily. “Why do I even bother trying?”

It took several long, furious strides before he had mastered himself enough to speak again. “My will was not my own,” he said tautly. “That ring he tricked me into wearing made it impossible for me to tell you the truth. I think you saw it in my eyes. I wanted to tell you, but I could not.”

“In many ways I felt the same. I betrayed you deliberately. I lied to you—”

“Here, this way. The alley is shorter.”

The shade from the alley brought a relief from the sun for a moment. It was narrow and full of rubbish and garbage, but no one was there except for pigeons examining the refuse. They fluttered and hopped to keep away from them as they walked. Wet clothes hung from poles extending from the upper windows, causing an almost rain-like pattering to descend, bringing with it the smell of laundry.

When they were far enough in, Hettie stopped and stared at him, hands on her hips. He looked wary of her, his eyes tight. She wanted him to say something humorous again, a quip or an insult. Something that showed the spark of who he truly was. This sulking, hurt creature was not her Paedrin.

“I did those things,” she said in a low voice. “I admit it. You were being forced by the Arch-Rike’s ring on your finger. I have a ring piercing my ear. It was forced on me when I was little. I am due another ring because of my age, but the debt has been paid. Kiranrao has what he wanted. He sent me to Kenatos to trick Tyrus. He promised me my freedom if I succeeded, which is more than Tyrus ever offered. But now I have been given my freedom, a chance to live in Silvandom.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “I want you to break this earring off. I am no longer a Romani.”