“Dorian, I am glad you’ve come.”

Siaki Xia appeared at the other end of the entrance hall of the mansion currently occupied by the thane of Nyx, moving purposefully toward him with her familiar, graceful poise. He bowed, and when he raised his head, he saw new lines on her forehead and dark circles beneath her eyes.

“Siaki,” he said, surprised into their old familiarity. “Are you well?”

“I will be.” She took a deep breath, as if to brace herself. “If you don’t mind, I would like a private word before I bring you before the others.”

Before the others? Concealing his astonishment—he thought they had refused to see him—he followed her into a small parlor adjacent to the entrance hall. She dismissed the two guards stationed there and closed the door directly after them, her sharp eyes sweeping the room before returning to him.

“As I said, it is good to see you, Dorian. In these dark days, I welcome any ally of Lethe, of course, but someone I can trust without reservation is even better.”

It was the warmest sentence he’d ever heard from the lips of the lady of Thebe. For a long moment, he studied her, seeing the white-blond hair and imagining a different woman standing in front of him. A vision of Sephone’s tear-streaked face just before he pulled her into his arms flashed into his mind. He brushed it away.

Sephone would be safe with her family. Now he had Caldera to think of . . . and Arch-Lord Lio and the Council of Eight. The Letheans and their old-world weapons. Rufus and Asa Karthick. And the Reliquary.

“After what you wrote in your letter, Siaki, I’m not sure I can be of any great use to you. The Memosinian nobles still consider me a traitor.”

“I have been persuading them otherwise,” she replied. “At least, the two who responded to our summons. They have seen the documents absolving you, and though they are yet to be fully convinced, I can tell you that Lord Draven’s recent actions have only helped your cause.”

He started. “What recent actions?”

“Several members of the Council of Eight have disappeared. Our sources indicate that Lord Draven is behind the abductions.”

“Abductions? Then they’re still alive?”

“We can only hope,” Siaki said grimly, “since no one has yet discovered any bodies.”

Dorian tried to absorb this news. “And what of Draven’s supporters? Are they turning against him now that the accusations have been made?”

She shook her head. “Not in the slightest. Lord Draven is playing every hand to his favor, poisoning the people against Lio and the Council. His closest supporters are spreading the rumor that Lio is behind the disappearances. A little while longer, and the Memosinians may depose Lio without Lord Draven having to lift a finger.”

“But the evidence we gathered—”

“Was sound. However, I’m afraid it is no longer a matter of evidence. Not anymore.”

He watched her. “Then the fear is spreading.”

“Aye, it spreads.”

“Is there any truth to the rumors? These reports of outlanders in the north?”

Siaki’s brow furrowed. “I regret to say that there is.” At the widening of his eyes, she hastened to reassure him. “From what our contacts say, Maera is in no danger. At least, not yet. It seems that the numbers of the outlanders have been greatly exaggerated. For the most part, Lord Draven is using the attacks to justify the mobilizing of Memosine’s armies. When that occurs, we do not doubt that they will move south as well as north.”

“And who is ‘we,’ Siaki? Who has come to your council?”

“As I said before, two members of the Eight. The rest would not come, out of fear for their safety. Six of the Lethean thanes and thanesses, including myself. Half are members of our old League. And three lords from Marianthe, who appear to be as much motivated by the desire to overthrow Lord Draven as they are to spy on Lethe’s secrets.” She entwined her hands behind her back, squaring her shoulders as she did so. “They all want to see you, Dorian.”

He heard what she didn’t say: the council was failing despite her best efforts. Sending for him was a last resort. “That alone, Siaki, conveys the depth of your desperation. And theirs.”

She sighed. “I will not lie to you, old friend. Most of the Letheans desire war, and the Memosinians will never betray their own. And as for the Mariantheans—”

“They merely want to sit back and watch us fight each other,” he finished for her. “So, you would have me use my gifts to regain their trust.”

“You speak the language of every man and woman here,” she replied. “You understand the nature of our fears. And every soul is emboldened in your presence. Besides, they already know you’re an alter. It would not be a deception.”

“My presence may embolden, but you know as well as I that boldness in a war council is not always something to be desired. And if the Letheans wish for war—”

“You united us once before, Dorian,” she countered swiftly. “And I would not ask for your assistance now if I did not sorely require it.”

He studied her a moment, then exhaled. “You have my assistance and whatever else you need.”

She gave a small smile. “Did you find your peace, then, old friend?”

“Not yet.”

She nodded. “I thought not. And what of the Reliquary? Did you retrieve it?” She glanced at the door. “Did you bring your mem to Nyx with you?”

He flinched at the implication of possession. “Aye, in answer to both your questions.” Since this was Siaki, and he knew she could be trusted, he related how they had found the Mysterium and the relic and how he had taken it from the Mountain.

“I didn’t think you capable of thievery,” murmured Siaki when he’d finished. She held up a hand to forestall his rebuttal. “I do not judge, Dorian. But you should know that the treasures of the world-that-was can be terrible things and do terrible things. You may wish to exercise greater caution in future.”

An image of Sephone suffocating to death under the metallic advance of the Reliquary seared his mind, and he accepted Siaki’s gentle rebuke. He inclined his head. “I will be careful. But Sephone has found her family here in Nyx, and she is settled now. I need to find another mem to replace her.”

For a brief moment, Siaki’s eyes brightened. “Ah, so the tragedy ends happily.”

He recalled the unseeing gazes of Damae and Odiseas Winter—glazed and dull after years of forgetting. Sephone would try to love her parents back to life, but from everything he’d seen, he doubted she would succeed.

“The fullness of that has yet to be seen,” he said eventually.

“You might want to reconsider finding another. From what I’ve seen, few mems are as powerful as yours. And she has the advantage of having already been inside Lord Draven’s mind.”

“Not without cost,” he said grimly. He proceeded to tell her Sephone’s secret: that she was slowly being poisoned by a nameless toxin, that the more she used her gift, the more the poison would advance, and that, quite possibly, no mem at all was immune from the long-term effects of using their gift. Siaki paled. He knew she wouldn’t be so cold as to send a dying woman to confront Draven. When he mentioned he was searching for a healer who was strong enough to endure the power of the Reliquary, she nodded determinedly.

“My aide will assist you in this hunt,” she declared, “and Sephone will be made well, Dorian, I promise.” She paused before adding in a softer tone, “You both will.”

He wished he could believe as fervently as she did. But it had taken months to find Sephone, and he already knew the Letheans were not fond of alters. Any that could help would likely be in hiding or exile, and the chances of finding both a mem and a healer seemed slim. The torturous memories of Lida and Emmy would be with him until the end of his days.

Something occurred to him, and he glanced at Siaki. “How could you tell I don’t have it yet? My peace, that is?”

A sad smile flitted across her face. “Because, my old friend, it is easy to see that you’re still carrying the world on your shoulders.”

“We must strike first.”

The bold announcement that rang out in the large chamber came from one of the Letheans, a thane by the name of Lord Viorel.

“That is foolish,” said a high, clear voice. Lady Alba, one of the two who’d come from the Council of Eight. Dorian didn’t know her well, but according to Xia, she was the most sympathetic to his cause. The other Memosinian representative, Lord Enver, seemed more inclined to defend Draven, and Dorian had no idea why he had come. “Lethe’s armies are no match for the forces of Memosine. It will be a massacre of your people.”

The room dissolved into heated discussion and impassioned declarations. Dorian had almost forgotten how frenzied and irrational diplomats became on the brink of war.

At the end of the table, Lady Xia held up her hands. “Silence!”

The room went still.

“We have been over this many times,” she said. “We are not here to discuss war, but peace.” She indicated Dorian, sitting to her right. “I have invited Lord Adamo here because he has long been a friend to Lethe and Marianthe, as well as a faithful servant of his own country.”

A low muttering began in the vicinity of Lord Enver and the Marianthean lord to his right, but no one challenged Xia’s statement to point out that same country had accused Dorian of treason.

“It was because of Lord Adamo,” she continued, “that peace was won the first time around, despite the fact that three of his predecessors had perished in the attempt. Therefore, there is no better man to advise us in our efforts to avert open war.” She glanced at him. “Lord Adamo, will you address us directly?”

Dorian nodded and stood.

“Thank you for inviting me here,” he said, looking at each of the faces around the table in turn. It was something his father had taught him, to always look both his friends and his enemies in the eye. “No doubt, some of you are wondering about the allegations against my name. I can assure you that they are false, a ruse by Lord Draven, who some of us know more intimately as Rufus Karthick. He hoped to remove me from my circles of influence and to encourage open war between Memosine and Lethe.”

Lord Grennor, grandson of the man who had given his name to Lethe’s mountains sixty years ago, and current thane of Nyx, spoke up. “I never doubted you, Ashwood.”

“Thank you, Lord Grennor.” But disappointment bit at him. Where were his former allies? Even the greedy and grasping Lord Faro of Iona would make a better ally than most of the men and women present.

He swept the reflection aside and tried to focus. They knew he was a calor with a talent for languages, but that didn’t mean they were immune from the effects of his powers. He continued, pouring his gift of languages into every word. Hopefully, it would help them to trust him.

“Lord Draven is ruthless and heartless, and it is true that he will stop at nothing to get what he wants—not even the murder of innocent women and children.” Lady Alba’s face bloomed with sympathy. Of course, they all knew about the murders of his family. “He must be stopped at all costs. But Lord Draven has Arch-Lord Lio and the people of Calliope at his mercy, and he won’t hesitate to use them against us as a human shield. We cannot march against Memosine because they are not our enemy.”

“What do you want us to do?” Lord Viorel demanded. “Simply remain still while they shoot at us?”

“Let him finish,” said Xia through gritted teeth.

“Nay,” Dorian replied to Viorel’s question. “We must do something. But it is Lord Draven and his poisonous influence that must be dealt with. And soon, before the arch-lord is removed from power completely.”

“We could never get close enough to Arch-Lord Lio to warn him of Lord Draven’s treachery, and even if we did, I doubt he would listen.” This came from Lady Alba, who had been nervously sipping water throughout the entire discussion. “We already took a great risk by coming here, Lord Adamo. If Lio or Lord Draven were to discover our presence, we would be accused of treason, the same as you.”

“I know.” Dorian knew that she had a family, including two young children. “And I don’t claim to have a plan yet. But whatever we decide, Memosine must not pay the price for Draven’s sins.”

“If only it were that easy,” Xia murmured.

“You care a great deal about Memosine,” said a new voice—a Marianthean nobleman he recognized as Lord Aster, leader of his country’s navy. “How can any of us be certain that you’re not here just to make sure Lethe doesn’t put up a fight?”

Lord Enver nodded vigorously at this, somehow forgetting that he, too, was meant to have Memosine’s best interests at heart.

Dorian thought of Cass, and the lumen’s mention of torture. “I have been accused of betraying my country, and now you accuse me of campaigning for it. I am guilty of neither agenda. My only thought is of Caldera—and the continued survival of our race.” He searched each of their faces, trying to gauge their motivations. “Surely we are Calderans first, and Memosinians and Letheans and Mariantheans second.”

“An interesting argument,” observed Lord Viorel. “But Lethe is not so defenseless as Lady Alba claims. Should Lord Draven overthrow the arch-lord and march on our borders, we can defend ourselves.”

“The old-world weapons?” Dorian looked at the Letheans, but none of them—not even Xia—met his gaze. “You cannot be considering using them.”

“As Lady Alba already observed,” said Lady Samaire, a tall, slender woman with iridescent fingernails, “we are vastly outnumbered, Lord Adamo. Should our people be endangered, we will not hesitate to use whatever means necessary to protect them.”

Dorian focused on Xia. “Then the weapons are ready?”

“Not yet,” she said in a low voice. “But they will be . . . and soon.”

“You must not use them.” Dorian was adamant. “Would you risk the same fate of the world-that-was?”

“We are not our ancestors, Lord Adamo,” said Lady Samaire with some chagrin. “And their mistakes are not ours.”

Lord Enver stood in a huff. “If the Letheans are preparing for war, then there is no point in attending this council any longer.”

The Marianthean navy lord, Aster, stood with him. “Lord Enver is right. If Lethe has weapons powerful enough to challenge Memosine, then it is pointless to argue for peace.”

Staring helplessly around the table of restless and agitated noblemen and women, Dorian searched his brain for something to say that would convince them of the terrible cost of open war. But they were all afraid, especially the Letheans. He didn’t dare reach out with his calor gift, for they would only think it an attempt to manipulate them. Once upon a time, he would have known what to say, but no longer.

Despite Xia’s attempts to bring the meeting to order, Lord Enver and Lady Alba declared their intention to retire to their rooms, and the three Marianthean lords departed soon afterward, leaving him with the Letheans.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Xia. “I couldn’t sway them.”

“There’s still time,” she replied, but he could see her weariness.

“And you, Lord Adamo?” Lady Samaire was studying him closely. “If Lethe rides to war, where do your allegiances lie?”

Lord Viorel and Lord Grennor turned their gazes on him.

A heaviness settled over Dorian’s chest. Was he to commit treason, after all? For what he said now would be enough to condemn him as a traitor. “If Memosine attacks Lethe, and Lethe responds, I will aid you in any way I can. But only until Memosine is freed of her oppressors.”

“Are we to assume you would so easily betray your own country, Lord Adamo?” Lord Viorel’s brow was sweaty. “If indeed such a betrayal has not already taken place?”

Dorian faced him. “As I said before, this is no longer about the boundaries of our nations, my lord. This is about the survival of Caldera itself. I owe a far greater allegiance to that cause than to my country. As do you.”

“So it would seem,” Lord Viorel replied noncommittally.

“Let us rest,” Xia said to the remaining Lethean nobles. “It has been a long day and a long week. We will reconvene in the morning.”

They filed out, and he was alone with Xia.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the weapons, Siaki?”

She looked uncomfortable. “They are a last resort.”

“A last resort, or a means of gaining the upper hand from the very beginning?” he said sharply. “I don’t claim to understand the technology of the world-that-was, but if you use them, hundreds of thousands of innocent people could die. And all our work will be for naught.”

“I know,” Siaki said, her mind clearly elsewhere. “But if it comes to it, we may not have a choice.”

After a long day, he had been looking forward to the solitude of his room, and an evening spent in contemplation of naught but firelight, but when he returned, Spartan was waiting for him beside the hearth.

At the heavy sigh Dorian expelled, the boy’s brow furrowed.

“I can come back another time, Lord Adamo . . . Dorian.”

“Nay, Spartan. It’s all right. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, it’s what I can do for you—or rather, share with you—that I came to discuss.”

“And what is that?” Fatigue made his tone more curt than he would have liked. He strode to the window and looked down at the courtyard.

“The truth.”

He turned. “The truth about what, Spartan?”

“About the curse of the ancestors.”

Dorian stared at him.

The boy continued, “I know that, naturally, I’m as reticent as my name suggests, and sometimes I forget that the things I know to be true are a mystery to everyone else.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Did the boy realize how arrogant he sounded?

“I asked you not to use the Reliquary because it was cursed. But there’s something else—something much larger—that I’ve been remiss in sharing with you, and well, I believe you should know. Especially since you’re one of those whose actions will determine the future course of this world.”

“Go on.”

Spartan’s blue eyes were fixed on him. “I haven’t lived with the Mysterium my whole life. In fact, once upon a time, I lived a normal life. It was full of ease, albeit not easy. All that to say that I know what it is to feel grief and loss and to encounter pain you have no hope of removing. I know that’s why you took the Reliquary in the first place.”

Dorian stilled for a moment. “I appreciate your sympathy, Spartan, but I must confess I’m not in the mood for discussing my past. Not at present.”

Spartan nodded. “I understand. Though it isn’t your past I wanted to discuss, but Caldera’s.”

The boy paused, as if waiting for his permission to proceed, and Dorian finally inclined his head.

“I know you’re trying to save the world, Dorian. I’m here to tell you that not only is it unnecessary, but it is also impossible.” Spartan leaned forward. “You have heard of the curse of the ancestors, have you not?”

“Aye.” Every Memosinian child knew of the curse. At the birth of Caldera, when the three countries were only in their infancy, a man had prophesied that Caldera would eventually fall, just as her ancestors had fallen. But no date or time had been given, and many had called the man an imposter and a sham. From what Dorian could recall from his grandfather’s stories, he had eventually been executed for causing unrest. The people of Caldera had left behind their gods and kings, after all. They would not repeat their ancestors’ mistakes.

As for Dorian, the curse didn’t exactly sit well with him, but it had never felt more than a children’s fable. While Lida and Emmy were alive, it had been easy to forget that Caldera still lived in the shadow of the prophecy. Even when he had been working to avert war, he had never really considered that the worst could happen, and they would destroy themselves all over again. But after his family died . . . everything had changed. He remembered what he’d said to Sephone when she’d been awed by the aftereffects of the Greening.

Caldera labors and groans beneath the curse of the ancestors. No matter how green it becomes, you must never forget that . . .

“I see the weight you carry, Dorian,” Spartan said. “You, and Sephone, too. It is a weight all of us carry in some form or another.”

“Even you?”

“Aye, even me,” Spartan answered with the gravity of a man much older than he was. “Though that burden is lessened of late, and one day, I will explain why. But what I want you to know is that the curse is real. There is a war at the center of this world. A war of greater proportions and depth than you can possibly imagine. A war of human pride and human folly. A quest for independence at the price of peace.”

Spartan paused weightily, sorrow etching his face.

“Any day now, Caldera will go the way of her ancestors. And not even the strongest of humankind will be enough to save it.”

Dorian frowned. “If you’re trying to cheer me up, Spartan, you might think about picking a different topic.”

Spartan smiled, a little somberly. “I’m not trying to cheer you up. Though if I made no mention of hope, this would be a grim conversation indeed.”

“Hope, you say?” The boy reminded him now of Sephone.

“Did you never wonder about the Mysterium? How and why it was formed?”

“Of course,” Dorian replied, although he’d only really been interested in the Reliquary. He pondered Spartan’s meaning. “It is true that they”—he corrected himself—“that you are different from most Calderans.”

“I would hope so.”

“And you want me to wonder why.”

“I think you already wonder why.” Spartan failed to suppress a faint smile. “The truth is that we—the Mysterium—believe in the rightful king. That he’s come back to us, and that he will lead us into a new age.”

“A king?” Dorian frowned.

“Aye.”

“What need do we have of a king?”

“You have been a politician and a leader of men for over a decade, Dorian. Surely you feel Caldera’s lack. But I do not speak about a king like Draven or an arch-lord like Lio. Nay, this is a king of souls. A king who has come to break the curse, once and for all time.”

He remembered the man from his dream. A powerful alter, he had thought, but no more than that. Was this Spartan’s so-called king?

“You believe you know this king of yours already, don’t you?”

Spartan’s eyes lit. “I see he has revealed himself to you. Aye, Dorian. He is our leader, our brother, our captain. He has promised to restore the world to what it was, before our ancestors corrupted it.”

“At what cost?”

“At his.” The sorrow had returned. “You might think of talking to him. He knows more of the burdens you carry than you could comprehend.”

There was no way he would ever return to the man from whose followers he’d stolen a rare and precious artifact. Especially not a powerful alter or a man who claimed to be a king. The only person he would ever allow in his mind was Sephone.

“I thought I made it clear that I have no desire to discuss my past.”

He was weary of curses and prophecies, gods and kings, and tired of talking. He missed Jewel. And Sephone, too. His nightmares were more disturbing now that he could not immediately reassure himself of her well-being upon waking.

And whatever Spartan believed, a king was, at the end of the day, just another man.

“So you did,” Spartan replied softly in answer to his statement. “I am sorry to have caused you pain.”

He saw that the boy was genuinely troubled. “You didn’t. At least, not any more than that with which I usually contend.”

Spartan just looked at him.

At the sincerity in those blue eyes, Dorian’s curiosity was piqued. “Why should it be impossible to save the world, Spartan?”

“Because anyone who attempts the rescue must first save himself.”

That certainly ruled Dorian out. He was completely, utterly lost. “And why should it be unnecessary, as you say?”

“Because our rescuer has already come.”

“I see no such man.”

The blue eyes did not waver. “Have you looked for him?”

Irritation prickled Dorian’s stomach. He was a man of thirty-one, not a child. And he was the former thane of Maera, not an untried acolyte sitting at the feet of his master. “You said you wanted to help me, Spartan. I fail to see how any of this does so. Won’t your friends at the Mysterium be missing your presence by now? Does not your king need you?”

Perhaps Spartan simply did not want to face the fact that the Mountain was empty.

“Aye,” came the gentle reply. “I do want to be home. But as I said before, I am the keeper of the Reliquary. Where it goes, I go. Where it stays, I stay.”

“For what purpose?”

“All those who seek the Reliquary do so for a reason, Dorian. You sought it to relieve the pain of your past. I am here as what you might call a guide, to show you another way.”

“What does a seventeen-year-old boy know of the pain of a man?”

Spartan’s eyes flickered. “More than you might think.” By the firelight, Dorian saw auburn stubble sprouting from the boy’s shaven head. It wasn’t yet long enough to see if it held any iridescence.

When the acolyte spoke again, he was more serene. “Pain is everywhere, Dorian. It is at the very heart of this world. It was woven into its fibers since the beginning, when the natural order of things was first undone, only to unravel more and more with every subsequent tug on the pattern. It is what you do with that pain—who you turn to and what you turn away from—that matters. How you respond to your heartache will chart the very course of your life.”

Dorian gazed at him. Never in his life had he heard such eloquence from a mere boy. Not even Regis had spoken so well—and with such quiet conviction. He turned to the window, thinking. If the acolyte ever wanted a career in politics . . .

He began to express that thought, but when he turned around, Spartan was gone.