Dascus fidgeted in his seat. The heat irritated his skin. He hated the sunlight and the sticky air bothered him every second he was outside. But he would not have missed this visit for the world. He stood up from the open-aired divan on the balcony to seek solace in the coolness of his parlour.

The last five years of his life had been hell. Captured for the simple act of wanting to see his mother and sister again and imprisoned for being ‘gifted’ a horrific talent he could neither ignore nor escape. The ancestors had done their best to prepare him while he’d been locked away in their vault. Five months he’d spent in the black. When he’d finally surrendered to them and learned to obey and open himself full time to their influence and invasion, they’d backed off and given him a reprieve. He’d discovered it was because they’d agreed he was ready to assume the place they’d prepared for him—the face of Rogun on the throne.

They’d suffocated Coltair through the bond that very same night. Fooling his mind to think he’d been choking, the emperor had scrawled his instructions for succession, signed it, applied his signet and then died at his desk. His aide had found him.

Dascus thanked the winds for that because Izik took every opportunity to remind him that had it been Dascus, he’d have gutted him, no matter what the ancestors would say.

Since then, once reunited with his beloved master in the crypts, Izik had calmed down some. A unusual exception, Coltair had convinced the ancestors to grant him access to hear him and now both Izik and Dascus served the emperor.

Izik begrudgingly put up with Dascus after Coltair assured him his presence was necessary and, in turn, promised that no royal advisor would take Zephen’s place; Izik himself would control the young emperor.

Zephen was still missing after escorting his sister to Elutia. Dascus had mourned his step-uncle and regretted ever approaching him. He believed the subsequent events since their meeting were his fault. Had he stayed away, Zephen and even Coltair would likely still be alive and he would know nothing of such betrayal, wickedness and pain.

He shifted again in his overstuffed chair, hating the soft cushions and the fabrics. Everything grated his nerves. The ancestors nattered constantly in his ears, blathering about dominance, power, things he had cared nothing about and still didn’t.

The door opened and Mogu appeared, his face calm and superior. He bowed low.

“My Emperor, the Royal Mother of Orak’Thune, Lady Kara,” he said and waited. Dascus stopped breathing.

Kara, his childhood fantasy and only friend he could reliably recall, swept into the room on silent feet. Her expression was polite but cautious as she moved to stand before him. She smiled wide and curtsied very low.

“Emperor Dascus,” she said, her voice a pleasant chime in the air.

Dascus stood quickly. “Leave us,” he said sharply and Mogu turned, dipped his head once and vacated the room. He turned back to her, a smile warming his face. It felt odd.

Kara’s eyes roamed all around him. She looked well, flushed cheeks and shining hair, and she was finely dressed but not ostentatiously like the women of his court. Her expression was easy, her jewellery sparkling when she moved her hands and her eyes dancing in the morning light.

“You look well,” she said in an enthusiastic welcome and laughed once, clearly happy to see him.

His smile widened.

“As well as I can be,” he said, choosing to hover around the truth. “I didn’t want this, by the way. It turns out my mother had sent me to Riverbrook for a very good reason. I was wrong to return.”

Kara’s expression fell. She moved and took one of his hands, her skin warm silk against his own.

“I have always loved you, Dascus, and despite what that definition means to different people, that doesn’t mean I ever would have left you here if I had known.”

He half-smiled but squeezed her hand. He lifted the other and indicated she should sit in the closest chair to his. She nodded and took it gratefully.

“What happened?” she asked him quietly and leaned closer.

Dascus retook his own seat with a loud huff and pulled his vest forward with a tug. “I was trapped here. I came to find my mother, as you remember, and Coltair imprisoned me after I’d found out she was dead by his hand and tried to leave. I was his heir; he wanted me right where I was. My mother’s marriage and his adopting me trapped me here. It was preordained, Kara, since I was two. Go figure,” he added with a dismissive huff.

“But he had another son?” she inquired.

Dascus shrugged, his hands resting open and wide on the extended version of the sofa he was occupying. “And daughters. It's the law of succession, Kara. The eldest male is always the heir. To illustrate; that son you have heard about? He’s more royal blood than I am, but someone hid Vail or killed him after I was found. Now he’s the boy lost and I’m the evil emperor who hates Orak’Thune and all the world for treating us as second-class citizens.”

Kara started to laugh, but she stilled when Dascus didn’t join her.

“You don’t, do you?” she asked.

When he didn’t respond, her head tilted to one side and it was lovely to see her hair sweep the bare porcelain of her perfect neck and shoulder.

“Dascus, do you?” she pushed.

His eyes squinted a tiny bit. “Hate Orak’Thune, you mean?” he filled in.

She bit her lip and he felt a warmth to his cheeks.

“That depends,” he said, still eyeing her carefully.

Kara waved a dismissive hand between them and sat back, moving to fidget with the long sheer scarf she wore around her shoulders. Her outfit was a fetching turquoise and beige and offset her auburn hair like fire and water.

“Seriously though, Coltair sowed that rancour long ago, Kara,” he told her somewhat apologetically. “I don’t have that control here. His plans and treaties will outlive both of us. I try what I can to keep hostilities to a minimum, but I’m not the popular voice; let’s be clear.”

“But you’re emperor!” Kara replied in surprise.

Dascus laughed humourlessly. “Yes, but ceding his power was never his real plan, love,” he told her vaguely. “But enough of that now. You did not come all this way to settle the world's affairs. How are you? How is your new life? I hear you have two babies now; how exciting,” he said, trying to add as much warmth and sincerity as he could muster.

Kara smiled wide to change the subject. It relaxed him a little, but he braced himself for the story and emotion he knew would wound him deeper than any injustice done to him so far.

“I have a son and a daughter,” she told him proudly. “Patrick is nearly seven and Nyssa is almost five.”

He nodded. “Congratulations, Mother Kara,” he told her.

She sighed happily and reached for his hand to grab and hold. “I miss our days in the woods, Dascus,” she told him. “Remember the walks, the long talks? You told me once you envisioned children of your own. A woman to walk with you like that for all the days of your life.”

Dascus didn’t really have social defences anymore. After so long living in a forced environment of constant deceit and insincerity, he was used to being cold and dismissive. He had no bonds, no relationships on Rogun that warmed him or fed his dreams and hopes for any future. He dreaded starting each day and prayed for death at every nightfall. Death did not greet him, but the undead did and the constant exhaustion and wear on his mind had numbed his emotions and senses. He felt little and expected less of his days.

“I meant you, Kara,” he said abruptly.

Her smile faded a little. Sympathy clouded her features and he hated it.

He stood fast and moved to stand near the window in the breeze so he could calm his heart. “Why did you come?” he asked her without looking back. “You knew this about us. Why would you think anything had changed?”

“I heard horrible things, Dascus,” she said.

He turned to find her standing a few feet away, at the window with him. “What things?” he asked her, surprised.

“That you were unhappy and cruel, that you allowed your army to abuse and lord over your citizens and that you were indifferent to your people. That’s not you, Dascus. Even if our countries are not friends, I counted you among mine. I would not if that were the truth and I came to see what I could do.”

Dascus scowled. “Lovely propaganda your loving husband feeds and breeds, Kara,” he growled at her.

Kara frowned. “Madras doesn’t say these things; he avoids Rogun affairs as much as possible because the truth of the matter is, Coltair was a known sociopath. The world’s leaders long ago dismissed his aggression and pursuit of dominance and power. I figured when he died and you ascended, things would change and new hope would emerge, relationships could be rebuilt and we could count Rogun among us for once!”

Dascus wanted to believe what she said. That old part of himself had grown up in Riverbrook and lived ten years of his life as a carefree, hopeless romantic, just like his best friend standing beside him. She had taught him that change could always blossom. But darkness lived inside him now. A depth of despair he could not describe and the evil voices that plagued him would never let him go back there. They had plans for his and her world.

“You should go home, Kara,” he said and turned back to facing the window. Kara gasped. “I mean it,” he added. “I hear what you’re saying and it’s quaint but really not the truth. Rogun is a powerhouse and it will succeed in enforcing that. There is nothing your precious Orak’Thune can do about that now. Coltair made sure his plans would succeed, in fact, his assurances stretch further than your king-husband can well imagine. That’s all I can really say about that. It’s not going to change either, not with my help.”

Like-minded. Giver of gifts…

Dascus, having just finished his last word, sharply inhaled at the whisper's message.

“No!” he barked and gripped his hair at the temple. Kara, shocked, reached for him, but he wrenched away from her.

Giver of gifts. Giver of gifts!

Dascus groaned and moved to run from her, into the next room. Kara followed. She found him facing the corner, rocking a bit.

“Dascus,” she whispered in intense concern and moved closer. “What is it? What is it that frightens you?!”

He turned, his eyes squinted in pain. “I hear them!” he shouted at her. “I always hear them! I can’t stop hearing them!”

Kara had flinched at the volume of his voice but not backed off.

“Winds, Dascus,” she said in sympathy. “My dear, please, let me help you!”

Giver of gifts. Let the gift now be the giver. Let the Mother take our One!

“NO!” he screamed loudly and bent to collapse on his knees. He sobbed loudly.

Kara, startled at the rapid change in his demeanour and, afraid for him, moved to stretch her hand and arms around his body. She cradled him and gently pulled him closer. She shushed and rocked him while he moaned and wept.

Suddenly, he looked up at her, the rims of his eyes red and swollen, but they were crystal clear and wide with fear.

“You should leave. Today,” he said and, in one movement, moved to grab her arm, stand and start walking her to the door.

“But, Dascus! I came for a month. You know this!” she protested, but he shook his head and wrenched the door open. He handed her to a guard.

“See she gets on her ship and send it back to Orak’Thune. Now!” he added and slammed it in both of their faces.

The last he heard when his back was to the closed door was Kara screaming for him as she was dragged down the hallway. His heart broke a second time and it hurt just as much. This time, however, he knew he had done the last brave thing he might ever do. Kara could never be found within the ancestors' clutches. If it killed him, and he did not doubt that one day it would, he would keep her away at all costs.