Dinlay sat next to Edeard and placed his smart uniform hat on the table, aligning it with the edge. His open mind revealed how satisfying that was, how it fit in with the view that the world should be an ordered place.

“Help yourself,” Edeard said, gesturing to the sideboard. He couldn’t help the wistful memories of when he and Dinlay had moved into the constable tenement after they’d finished their probation. Nearly every morning until he’d married they’d had breakfast together. The best days. No! The easiest.

A ge-chimp brought Dinlay a cup of coffee and a croissant. “You need to watch what you eat,” Dinlay said, eyeing the huge spread of food. “You’ll wind up Macsen’s size if you’re not careful.”

“No, I won’t,” Edeard assured him softly. Dinlay and Macsen hadn’t spoken for over a year now, which pained him. Maybe I should go right back to the beginning? Except he knew that was the most pitiful wishful thinking. This was the time when he’d gotten everything so close to being right. All that was left for him now was to bring those remaining provinces into the unification, along with a few recalcitrants left over in the city. When that was done, he could truly, finally, relax.

“Some news came in last night that you’re going to enjoy,” Dinlay said. “It would seem the Fandine militia is on the march.”

Edeard endured a nasty chill of deja vu at the claim. The Fandine militia had last marched when he was voyaging on the Lady’s Light, but that was for another reason altogether. “Against Makkathran?” he asked sharply.

Dinlay’s thoughts were happy at providing his friend with a surprise and being able to reassure him. “Against Licshills. It would seem Devroul’s expansionist ambitions were too great for Manel.”

“I see.” Edeard didn’t allow anyone to know his own dismay that this time around Manel had fallen to the bad again and had set himself up as the Lord President of Licshills. “When did this happen?”

“Five days ago. Larose’s fast scouts brought the news as quickly as they could.” Dinlay sipped at his coffee, waiting for Edeard’s response.

“Five days. Which means they’ll be a fifth of the way there by now.”

“Are you going to try and stop them?”

“Oh, Edeard,” Hilitte exclaimed. “You have to stop them. There would be so many people killed if you don’t. The Skylords would never come again.”

Edeard gave Dinlay a shrug. “She has a point.”

“Yes, but … who would the city’s militia regiments side with?”

“Neither. We oppose both, of course.” Edeard was trying to work out what course of events they could play out. Clearly, the city forces would have to stall the provincial regiments while domination was used against the individual militiamen, pulling them into Makkathran’s unification. But ultimately there would be a showdown with the strong psychics at the core of each independent province. It was a situation he’d been avoiding for two years, hating the idea of yet more confrontation. But the only alternative was traveling back for yet another restart, making good the mistakes and problems before they emerged, and that was something he simply could not contemplate. Not again. I can’t do it. Living those same years yet again would be a death for me.

Dinlay nodded sagely. “Shall I tell Larose to prepare?”

People were going to die; Edeard knew that. The number would depend on him. Riding the city militia into the conflict was the only way to keep the number of deaths to a minimum. “Yes. I’ll ride with them myself.”

“Edeard-”

He held a hand up. “I have to. You know this.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“The Chief Constable has no business riding with the militia.”

“Nor does the Mayor.”

“I know. Nonetheless, it is my responsibility, so I will be there to do what I can. But someone with authority must remain in the city.”

“The Grand Council …”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Dinlay admitted. “I do.”

“Besides, we don’t want to make Gealee a widow, now, do we?”

Dinlay glanced up from his croissant. “Gealee? Who’s Gealee?”

Edeard grimaced as he silently cursed his stupidity. “Sorry. My mind wanders these days. I mean Folopa. You can’t take the risk. You’re barely back from your honeymoon.”

“There’s an equal risk.”

“No, Dinlay, there isn’t. We both know that.” He pushed ever so slightly, sending his longtalk whisper slithering into Dinlay’s thoughts to soothe the agitated peaks of thought. Dinlay’s reluctance faded away.

“Aye, I suppose so.”

“Thank you,” Edeard said, hoping his guilt wasn’t showing. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“You normally know what you’re doing.”

It was all he could do not to bark a bitter laugh. “One day I will. Now come on.” He rose and gave Hilitte a quick kiss. “We have to get to the sanctum. Argain and Marcol are the first meeting. They seem pleased with themselves.”

“It’s nothing,” Dinlay said, finishing his coffee before getting to his feet. “Information on the criminals resisting our city’s embrace. They have some new names for you.”

“They’re not criminals.” Not yet, he added silently, wondering where all his guilt was coming from this morning. As if I don’t know: those Ladydamned Skylords.

“They should be,” Dinlay muttered darkly.

– -

It was the way of his days now, meeting with people who were at odds with the city’s unity. Acting as moderator, smoothing the way for understanding between everyone. A version of being Mayor he’d never quite envisioned during the caravan trip to Makkathran too many decades ago. He’d always thought he’d be elected in a free vote, arguing with his opponents and winning people over. Instead, he’d been the only candidate in a city where everyone’s mind was attuned to his. Well, not everyone, he admitted, and that’s a big part of the problem. Some people knew how to resist or deflect dominance. But they still gave the appearance of sharing, of unity with everybody else. Everything would be running along smoothly for weeks, then one morning the constables would be called to premises that had been smashed up or a gondolier yard where boats had been broken. More worrying were the warehouses where fruit and meat had been ruined, chopped open or doused in cartloads of genistar excrement. That was happening too often for his liking, and it was always performed by genistars, leaving no trace of the perpetrator even in the city’s memory.

So Argian and Marcol and Felax tracked down those resisting the unification one by one, but their true numbers were unknown. Rumor had it in the thousands. Edeard suspected a few hundred, which left him content that his dedicated team would gradually wear down the resistance. It was almost like the good old days of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Except even that was an illusion, a memory that when examined properly wasn’t so joyful. It was just another achingly long time spent shuffling reports and dossiers.

If anything was becoming a true constant in his life, it was the mountains of paperwork and those endless boring meetings. Can that really lead to my fulfillment? And if not, what?

The evening didn’t start well. One of the girls Hilitte brought to the bedchamber wasn’t used to so much food being available and ate too much during the meal beforehand, which led to her feeling sick when they all retired to the master bedchamber. With unity came minds wide open to each other. That meant the sensations of her nausea spread like a contagion.

After she’d hurried out, leaving those left behind to take deep breaths and calm their queasy stomachs, Edeard decided a quiet night spent by himself might be preferable to the usual frenetic physical performance. Sure enough, his day had been long, uneventful, and ultimately thankless. His one attempt to longtalk Jiska had resulted in the usual quick rebuff. His children had all taken their mother’s side. It was probably the main reason he’d turned to Hilitte and the others; their cheap adoration was an easy way of easing the pain of loss, no matter how shallow and flimsy the act. His one genuine thread of comfort amid the estrangement came from knowing that a unified world would provide them with fulfillment. He hadn’t failed them even though they would never acknowledge it.