“A whole regiment deployed with the sole intent of killing you in cold blood,” Uphal remarked. Their chief persuader, the one who whispered strongly to the weak, the inferior who swarmed the city like vermin.

“History,” Edeard told them. “A history I evolved so that we could all live together no matter our talents and abilities.”

“That they can live together.” Kiary and Manel sneered in unison. The young lovers who had such a fun, wild time in the tunnels and elsewhere in the city: the Mayor’s oval sanctum, the altar of the Lady’s church, Edeard and Kristabel’s big bed on the tenth floor of …

Tathal snapped his fingers in irritation as Edeard turned to glower at them.

“Enough,” he chided. Tathal, the first to realize his dawning power, the gatherer of lost frightened kindred, the nurturer, the teacher, the nest father. Father to seventeen of their impressive second generation.

“Oh, Ladycrapit,” Edeard muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been this scared for a long long time. Decades. And even then he’d had youthful certainty on his side.

“So you see, Waterwalker,” Tathal said, “like you, we are Querencia’s future.”

“I don’t see that at all.”

“You said that you thought stronger psychics were emerging as a sign of human maturity in the Void,” Halan said.

“What?”

“I talked to Kanseen once,” Hala said with a dreamy smile. “She has such fond thoughts of you, a little thread of longing never extinguished. I believe that’s why she recalls your time in the Jeavons squad together so clearly even after all this time. Back then, after your triumphant day of banishment, you told her that was your reason for enlisting Marcol as a constable: to tame him, to bind him to your vision. You saw the strong emerging from the masses; that’s very prophetic. We respect that.”

“And you’ve been keeping an eye out for others of strength ever since,” Uphal said. “Bringing them into the establishment. The establishment whose throne you’ve claimed. Indoctrinating them with your ideals.”

“But that was then,” Tathal said. “When the strong were few, and afraid. Now our numbers are growing. Soon there will be enough of us that we can emerge from the shadows without fear. One day, all humans will be as us. As you.”

“Really?”

“You doubt your own beliefs? Or do you dare not put a voice to them? You know we are right. For we are here, are we not?”

“What exactly do you see yourselves becoming?” Edeard asked.

The nest’s thoughts swirled around him again, faster than ever. This time he knew their amusement: tinged with derision, perhaps even a scent of disappointment. The great Waterwalker: not so impressive, after all.

“We are the children of today’s people,” Tathal said. “And as with all children, one day we will inherit the world from our parents.”

“Okay.” Edeard cleared his throat. “But I don’t think you’re the type to wait patiently.”

“We are simply readying ourselves for every eventuality,” Tathal said. “I do not delude myself that the transition will be smooth and peaceful, for it is never a pleasant realization that your evolution has ended and a new order is replacing you.”

“Unbelievable.” Edeard shook his head wearily. “A revolution. You’re going to replace the Grand Council with your own followers. Is that the best you can do?”

“We have no intention of replacing the Grand Council. Can you not understand what we are? We don’t need to make the kind of empty political promises Rah made to the masses, his ludicrous democracy. He knew the right of it when he established the families of the district masters. That was where he expected our true strength to emerge. The Grand Families tried; for centuries they have chosen their bloodstock on the basis of psychic strength. But we have supplanted them as the true heirs of Rah. Evolution is inevitable, yet it is also random. Isn’t that utterly wonderful?”

“So the weak don’t get a say in the world you control.”

“They can join with us,” Uphal said. “If their thoughts are bright enough, they will belong. That’s what we are: a union of pure thought, faster and more resolute than any debating chamber full of the greedy and corrupt that rules every town and city. It is democracy on a level beyond the reach of the weak. Your children will be a part of it, especially the twins. Marilee and Analee are already open and honest with each other; that is a big part of what we are, what we offer. It’s a wondrous life: nobody alone, nobody frightened. And there are more of us out there, more than you know, Waterwalker.”

Edeard gave him a thin smile. “I suggest you don’t threaten my family. I suggest that quite strongly.”

“I’m not threatening anyone.”

“Really? I’ve seen how you use dominance to bind people, to deny them free will. That’s how you’ve come this far. Control seems to be what you’re actually about.”

Tathal grinned. “How is your campaign for Mayor coming along? Dinlay is putting an election team together for you, isn’t he? Always the loyal one, Dinlay. His admiration for you verges on worship. Do you discourage that?”

“If I become Mayor, it will because the people who live in this city say I can. And when that mandate is over, I will step down.”

“Your nobility is part of your appeal. To their kind.”

“You talk as if you’re different. You’re not.”

“But we are, and you know it. And to make your guilt burn even brighter, you belong with us.”

“Dominance is psychic assault. It is illegal as well as immoral. I want you to stop using it against other people. You can start with Colfal.”

Kiary and Manel laughed derisively. “This is why we’re cautious? Come on. He’s an old man we can squash like ge-chimp crap.”

Tathal waved them into silence. “Don’t do that,” he said to Edeard. “Don’t fall back on righteous indignation; it does not become you. You were the first. You have a duty to your own kind. You are the bridge between us and the others. If you want to retain your self-respect, your grandeur, you will work with us. Continue as that bridge. People trust you; they will need your reassurance that what is happening here is inevitable. You are essential for the transition, Waterwalker. You cannot stop us; we are nature. Destiny. Help us. Or do you consider yourself above that?”

Edeard held up a warning finger, grimly aware of how pathetic that must appear to the nest. “Stop interfering with other people’s lives; leave their minds alone. You are not their superiors. We are all-”

“One nation?” Tathal inquired; the mockery was palpable.

Edeard turned and left the room. He was somewhat surprised he was still alive and allowed to do so.

Mirnatha was in the ziggurat when a shaken Edeard arrived home. He’d completely forgotten she was visiting. She was up on the tenth floor, along with Olbal, her husband, and their children. Kristabel was on the floor of the private lounge, entertaining the two toddlers while the older ones were playing with Marakas and Rolar’s children in the big playroom on the other side of the ziggurat. The children’s excited laughter and squealing echoed down the vast stairwell, causing him to smile regretfully as he climbed the last few stairs. He passed the short corridor leading to his bedroom and gave the closed door a pensive look. Kiary and Manel creeping in unseen to have their dirty little thrill was far too much like the time Mirnatha had been kidnapped. Too many memories, he told himself.

By the time he reached the main lounge, he’d managed to compose himself and strengthen his mental shield. He smiled widely as Mirnatha rushed across to kiss him effusively, and then he shook hands warmly with Olbal. Everyone had been surprised when Mirnatha had married him. She’d spent her teens and twenties enjoying every delight and excitement the city could offer a supremely eligible Grand Family daughter. Then suddenly Olbal had come to town, and the next thing Julan, Kristabel, and Edeard knew was her engagement being announced and a wedding six weeks later in Caldratown, the capital of Joxla province. Kristabel had worried it would never last; Edeard had a little more confidence. He rather liked his brother-in-law, who owned a huge farming and woodland estate in Joxla province, to the north of the Donsori Mountains. Olbal didn’t care much for the city and its politics and its society events; he was a practical man whose brain was occupied with agricultural management and food market prices. Such a man offered the kind of stability Mirnatha needed. And here they were, still together thirty years down the line, with nine children.