He asked Hilitte and the remaining girl to leave him. Hilitte stomped out in a wake of hurt feelings and sourness with just an undercurrent of worry that her time as the favorite was drawing to a close. Such was his languor, he couldn’t be bothered to reassure her. He wove a thick shield around his feelings, cutting himself off from the mellow reassuring contentment of the unified minds glowing around him, and fell asleep.

He was woken out of his outlandish dream by the strength of worry from the approaching mind. For a second he had been back in the forest with the other Ashwell apprentices on their galby hunt, beset with fear without knowing why. But it was only Argian, breezing his way past staff with cool purpose, ignoring any requests to wait for the sleeping Waterwalker to be formally woken and informed of his presence.

“It’s all right,” Edeard longtalked through the bedchamber’s closed door. “Come in.” His third hand hauled a robe over as Argian strode in. Now that Edeard was shaking off the sleep, he became aware of just how deep the currents of anxiety were running in the man’s mind. Bitter regret was like the burn of bile. “What is it?” Edeard asked in trepidation.

“We caught them,” Argian said, but there wasn’t a trace of elation in the tone. That morning he and Marcol had been excited at the new leads they’d gathered, the information that that night there would be a raid on a shipyard in the Port district, where two half-built trading schooners would be burned.

“And?” Edeard asked.

“They fought back.” There were tears glinting in Argian’s eyes now. “I’m so sorry, Edeard. Her concealment was good; we didn’t even know she was there.”

Edeard became still, the hot blood pounding around his body suddenly turning to ice as he perceived the picture forming amid Argian’s thoughts. “No,” he moaned.

“We didn’t know. I swear on the Lady. Marcol hauled her out of the flames as soon as we farsighted her.”

“Where is she?”

“The hospital on Half Bracelet Lane in Neph; it was the closest.”

Edeard flung his farsight into the district, pushing through the thick walls of the hospital. As always, the sense revealed only gauzy radiant shadows, but he could perceive the body that lay on a cot in the ground-floor ward; he knew the signature anywhere. It was ablaze with pain. “Oh, great Lady,” he groaned in horror.

The travel tunnels took him down to Neph in minutes. As he passed under Abad, he sensed someone else flying along ahead of him. Two girls, holding hands as they hurtled headfirst, radiated fear and concern as their long dark skirts flapped wildly in the slipstream.

“Marilee? Analee?” he called. He had no idea they knew of the travel tunnels. Their thoughts vanished behind an astonishingly strong shield. The rejection was as shocking as it was absolute.

He rose up through the floor of the hospital a few seconds behind the twins. They were already hurrying toward the ward, glimpsed as shadows in the dark corridors, their heels clattering on the floor. He followed, every step slower than the last. The farsight of his whole family was converging on the hospital, their presence like malign souls.

Jiska was lying on a cot, a terrible reedy wail bubbling out of her throat. The level of pain filling the long room was enough to make Edeard’s legs falter. He was crying as he approached. Three doctors were bent over his daughter, trying to remove the burned cloth from her ruined skin. Potions and ointments were poured over the blackened, crisping flesh, doing little to alleviate the awful thudding pain.

He took another step forward. Marilee and Analee moved quickly to form a barrier between him and the bed, minds fiercely steadfast. They were clad in robes similar to his own signature black cloak, hoods thrown over their heads leaving their faces in shadow. Steely guardians of their mortally injured sister, determined to prevent any last violation of her sanctity.

“She has suffered enough, Father.”

“She doesn’t need you here to make it worse.”

“Jiska,” he pleaded. “Why?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Not here.”

“Not now.”

“Don’t pretend your ignorance is some kind of innocence.”

“You’re not ignorant. Nor innocent.”

“You are evil.”

“A monster.”

“We will do whatever we can to ruin your empire.”

“And destroy you.”

The two black-clad figures wavered in his vision, and he saw them on the tropical beach as it had never happened so many years ago, both in long cotton rainbow skirts, bare feet on the hot sand, both clinging adoringly to Marvane, rapturously happy as Natran performed the marriage ceremony.

“I do this for all of you,” Edeard wept. “I am bringing you fulfillment. The Lady knows I try to bring fulfillment to the whole world. Why do you reject me?”

“Your evil would enslave everyone on Querencia, and you ask us why.”

“Evil. Evil. Evil man. Honious will take you.”

Jiska convulsed. Edeard groaned through clenched teeth as he forced himself to share every aspect of her agony. He deserved nothing less. His legs gave way.

“We will bring you down.”

“We are still free.”

“We have taught others how to liberate themselves.”

“Your slaves will rise up against you.”

“Domination does not deliver eternal loyalty.”

“Already your hold on the provinces crumbles away.”

“You?” he asked through the sickening pain. “You are the resistance?”

Then the longtalk he dreaded most spoke. “Who else was left?” Kristabel asked. “Whose mind has your megalomania left unbroken?”

Jiska’s head turned slightly.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” the doctors chorused in concern.

Red scabbed eyelids fluttered, sending a yellow fluid seeping out of freshly opened cracks. The remaining good eye stared right at him. “We will beat you,” Jiska’s weak longtalk told him determinedly. “My soul will wander the Void, but I will die knowing this. I am fulfilled, Father, but not how you desired me to be, thank the Lady.”

Edeard fell to his knees. “You’re not to be lost. I can stop this,” he told her with a whisper. “I can.” Two hours, that’s all. Just go back two hours and stop the fire from ever happening. I’ll talk reason to them. We will find common ground.

“If you try-”

“-you will have to kill us first.”

“All of us,” Kristabel longtalked.

Edeard raised his head to the shadowed ceiling. “You do not die. Not again. Not ever while I live. I have suffered too much for that to be allowed.”

In the streets outside the hospital, minds were emerging from their concealment. Their presence shocked him. Rolar, Dylorn, Marakas, even Taralee. The oldest five grandchildren, all emboldened and resolute. But not Burlal-he at least is spared this. And they weren’t alone. Macsen and Kanseen emerged with them, as did their children. Then at the last Kristabel came forth.

“You can rule this world,” they told him with a loving unity whose nobility was infinitely more beautiful than any he had ever imposed. “But we will not be a part of it. One way or another.”

“But we must be one,” he shouted back frantically. “One-” Nation. With that he crumpled to the ground and cried out in anguish as the shock of what he now believed in hit him with a physical impact. Oh, my great Lady, I have become my enemies: Bise, Owain, Buate, the Gilmorn, Tathal, all the others I struggled to overcome. How was I so weak to let them win, to adopt their methods? This cannot stand. This is why fewer Skylords have come. Fulfillment is slipping away from me, from all of us. I knew that. Lady, I always knew that.

He had sworn not to go back again, but that was an irrelevance now-he was going back to save Jiska. Not two hours. That would not be salvation. There was only one option left.

“You are right,” he told them, and opened his mind so they could see whatever love and humility he had left. “I have fallen to arrogance and sin, but I swear to the Lady I will show no more weakness.” And reached for that wretched moment-