Arliss recognized the manipulation: Vega using sacred text to justify his inevitable power move while chaos unfolded in Servo District.

  He’ll turn their fear into a weapon against us.

  “All councilors will convene in emergency private session to address this threat to public safety,” Vega declared, striking his gavel with finality. “We cannot continue the proceedings at such a grave moment.”

  Morran and the other officer escorted Arliss out ahead of the crowd.

  “What’s happening in the District?” Arliss demanded as they led him away. “Who’s been hurt?”

  Morran’s expression gave away nothing.

  “Your friends decided to start a war they can’t win.”

  He had to warn Meera somehow. Had to reach Kip. Had to stop whatever was happening down there before it destroyed everything they’d fought for.

  The massive doors closed behind him with the sound of a tomb being sealed.

  ***

  The corridor outside the council’s private conference room thrummed with nervous energy. Arliss shifted his weight, the stun-cuffs digging into his wrists as he strained to hear the muffled voices beyond the door. Every minup that passed was another minup of uncertainty, another minup where the fate of the Servo District, of Meera and Kip, hung in the balance.

  If I could get to the tagger. Just one message to learn the truth.

  Twenty minups had passed without a word. Morran brought Arliss at the Council’s orders and left the other officer nearby while Morran conferred inside. Arliss’s enhanced hearing picked up fragments: Vega’s rage, Nesbitt’s persistent questioning, another councilor’s demand for a stronger EQ response. None of it painted a clear picture of the situation back home.

  Sitting on a bench, Arliss bowed his head and gritted his teeth.

  His hearing picked up a new sound, yet one not unfamiliar. A recent whisper of sorts.

  He looked up and to his left. Galen Keet walked toward him, his ceremonial robes brushing the floor. The man looked smaller somehow, diminished.

  “They summoned you too?”

  Arliss asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

  Galen nodded.

  “For what it’s worth.” He glanced at the closed door, then back to Arliss. “No matter what happens now, I’m finished. The temple will never accept my interpretation. The Pure Breathers will label me a traitor to the faith.”

  “You don’t sound surprised,” Arliss said. “Did you expect to rewrite doctrine and walk away unscathed?”

  “No.” Galen’s eyes held a weariness that transcended physical exhaustion. “I expected only the consequences of my choices.”

  Arliss studied the man who had stolen a chunk of his life.

  “Why confess at all? You could have denied everything, and everyone in that audience would have believed you. A respected Wind Reader against a Blend ex-con? Not exactly a fair contest.”

  Galen’s gaze drifted.

  “I too made promises I did not keep.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I made a choice to fulfill the most precious.”

  Arliss wasn’t interested.

  “This is our first conversation, and I’ve been married to your daughter for thirteen years. We might not be standing here if you had made a different choice when she begged for your understanding.”

  Before Arliss pressed further, the conference room door swung open. Captain Evo Morran emerged, his uniform crisp despite the chaos unfolding around them.

  “Dubai. Keet. You’re both requested.”

  Morran’s face revealed nothing as he gestured them inside.

  “What’s happening in Sinquin?” Arliss demanded. “In the Servo District?”

  Morran cleared his throat.

  “Hostage situation. Enforcers trapped in stalled lifts, others pinned down in defensive positions.” A pause. “Thankfully, the first reports were wrong; there are no casualties. Yet.”

  Yet. The word hovered like a blade waiting to fall.

  Arliss stepped into the conference room, Galen close behind. The atmosphere hit him like a physical force; tension so thick it seemed to compress the air. Councilors huddled in small groups, voices raised in argument. Vega stood at the head of the table, hands planted on its surface as he leaned toward Nesbitt, their faces inches apart.

  “… will not negotiate with terrorists!” Vega was saying, his controlled public persona slipping to reveal the fury beneath.

  “And I will not authorize a massacre based on incomplete information,” Nesbitt shot back, unflinching.

  All eyes turned as Arliss entered. The room fell silent, the sudden calm more threatening than the shouts that preceded it.

  Vega’s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Arliss and Galen standing together.

  “This is what you summoned? A criminal and a Wind Reader who’s lost his way?”

  Councilor Nesbitt ignored him, addressing Drayson instead.

  “Val, tell them what you just told us.”

  Drayson’s face was ashen, his political polish replaced by fear.

  “The standoff has spread through six levels of Sinquin. Enforcement has found ways in other than the lifts, but they’re hesitant to move. Some officers are still trapped in those lifts, and factions of armed Blends have taken more than a dozen enforcers hostage. They say the hostages will be killed if EQ makes any aggressive move. Commander Drace is preparing for a Grade 1 tactical assault.”

  “Which could result in how many casualties?” Nesbitt pressed.

  “Hundreds,” Drayson admitted. “Maybe more. Grade 1 means they can fire at will. Any Blend will be considered a target.”

  Families. Children.

  Arliss felt the weight of those numbers pressing down. The stun-cuffs seemed to tighten around his wrists, a physical reminder of his helplessness.

  “Councilor Nesbitt,” Arliss said, finding his voice. “Why am I here?”

  “Because your wife risked everything to bring us the truth,” she replied, her gaze steady. “Meera Dubai provided the evidence of these executions, knowing it would expose your son to further scrutiny. She believed the truth was worth that risk. Judging by the strength Kip showed, I’m sure he agreed.”

  Meera. Always braver than anyone gives her credit for.

  “She also believed,” Nesbitt continued, “that exposing this pattern of abuse against your people would prevent more bloodshed, not cause it. Now we stand on the precipice of exactly what she hoped to avoid. We cannot allow Commander Drace to follow through with that assault.”

  “I doubt you can stop him,” Morran interjected. “I was there last night. Drace is a man in need of blood.” He licked his lips and added, “The Dubai boy was correct. Drace ordered those three children to be executed.”

  That caught everyone’s attention.

  “You know this how?” Treymane asked.

  “He told me. I’ve never given an order with the code word quicken. Lefflin took pride in it. I’ve worked with him for many years, but I did not see this coming.”

  “Seems to me,” Treymane said, “The easiest solution is to arrest Drace and promote a subordinate to deal with the crisis.”

  Morran nodded.

  “It’s an option, but it will take time. His lead officers are loyal.” Morran shuffled his eyes between Treymane and Vega. “They share equal disdain for Blends. I’d have to reassign a commander from another Mega. Someone more moderate in his approach.”

  “Then do it,” Nesbitt said.

  Morran agreed but warned again about the difficulty of installing a new command staff amid such a crisis. As he departed, the focus returned to Arliss and Galen.

  “I wonder,” Vega asked Nesbitt, his gracious tone masking obvious rage. “What exactly do you expect from these two?”

  “A bridge, Ennis. Assuming Capt. Morran succeeds in stopping an insane tactical raid, the standoff will continue. These two may offer a solution to diffusing the situation.”

  Vega stroked his beard.

  “Ah. The two men who took it upon themselves to air their family shame in public and undermine confidence in our government and the temple. Men whose outrageous accusations and conspiracy theories open them up to charges of slander and sedition. These men?” Vega’s eyes narrowed to cold slits. “As the Fourth Wind Teaching says, ‘Those who bind their spirits to falsehood shall be swept away like chaff when the cleansing winds arrive.’ Their fate was sealed the moment they chose to abandon truth for spectacle.”

  Family shame? As if watching your daughter marry a Blend was worse than sending an innocent man to prison.

  Arliss felt his combat servos nagging for an opportunity to activate, but he held his outward cool.

  “I’ll give you credit, Ennis,” Nesbitt scoffed. “You always have a perfect quote for the occasion. If only I possessed your wit.” She joined Arliss and Galen and spoke this time to the entire council.

  “A Blend terrorist killed three officers. No one disputes those facts. Three Blend children were executed without process of law. Indisputable. We cannot dismiss the crimes of those young thieves, but we must ask ourselves: How did we get here? Are we guilty of disappearing and abusing Blends for years? Can there be trust if we do not resolve the larger impasse beyond the immediate crisis?”

  Vega’s laugh was sharp and dismissive.

  “This is absurd. You’re suggesting a moral equivalence between lawful enforcement and terrorist violence?”

  “I’m suggesting,” Nesbitt said, “that both sides have blood on their hands. The boy who killed those officers is himself dead. Commander Drace ordered the murders of three unarmed children.”

  “Is this supposed to be equivocation?” Drayson asked, looking between the councilors. “Perhaps. But we have guilt on both sides, and I will not authorize a bloodbath in my Mega based on incomplete understanding.”

  They’re listening. Actually considering a way out.

  Arliss studied the faces around the table. Behind their political masks, he saw genuine concern, not just for the enforcers held hostage, but for the potential loss of life on all sides. Even the Pure Breathers in the room did not foresee this outcome.

  “A final decision must be made before we can move forward.” Nesbitt cut through the tension. “We face a choice that has been left unsaid for years.”

  Arliss knew that choice well. It had been the underlying question for generations: Could Tets and Blends coexist, or was separation inevitable?

  “I believe …” Arliss began, ready to propose a solution, when Galen stepped forward.

  “There might be a way,” the Wind Reader interrupted.

  All eyes turned to him. Even Vega seemed surprised by Galen’s intervention.

  “The Breath teaches that reconciliation cannot occur without acknowledgment,” Galen continued. “For years, we Wind Readers have preached separation as the preferable path forward. We were wrong.”

  Vega’s face darkened.

  “Wind Reader Keet, you overstep …”

  “I speak with the authority of my position.” Galen cut him off, a simmering steel in his voice. “For as long as I have it. I propose a Wind Reading ceremony, broadcast to all Megas, where High Wind Reader Kaal and I will acknowledge the contribution of Blends to Teton’s survival.”

  Though Arliss was no man of faith, he understood the implications: A Wind Reading was sacred, its pronouncements carrying the weight of spiritual law for believers.

  “Such acknowledgment,” Galen added, “would be followed by a Unified Council declaration granting amnesty to all participants in today’s events, contingent upon the peaceful release of hostages and surrender of all stolen weapons.”

  “Amnesty for terrorists?” Vega sputtered. “Impossible.”

  “Not for murder,” Galen clarified. “The Blend who killed those officers is dead. Accountability may yet be necessary for his accomplices.” Galen glanced at Arliss. “Commander Drace and the officers who murdered those boys will have to stand for their crimes. For the rest? Amnesty for peace. This is my humble proposal.”

  Arliss studied the Wind Reader, searching for hidden motives. What he saw instead was exhaustion and determination, the look of someone who did not want to fight inertia anymore.

  “Disarming the Blends is a necessity,” Treymane said, “but why would the Blends trust any deal we propose?”

  “Because Arliss Dubai will deliver it.” Galen faced his son-in-law. “They will trust him where they would not trust us. Do any of you remember the last time a Blend spoke before the Unified Council?”

  He smiled at their shaking heads.

  “It hasn’t happened in our lifetimes. Arliss brought a voice to his people like no one has in generations. They will trust him.”

  Vega crossed his arms and gazed at Arliss.

  “What guarantee do we have that he will not use this as a ploy to remain in the Servo District and escape custody? He invoked Article 47.”

  Galen’s gaze never left Arliss.

  “To protect my grandson. He has more to lose than any of us if this fails.”

  A week ago, I was just an ex-con looking for work.

  Arliss remembered what Guise told him in that EQ cell:

  “Limitations can be advantages when properly leveraged.”

  Now, Arliss understood. No more of his people would die today, if he could help it.

  “I’ll do it,” Arliss said. “But a verbal or handshake deal won’t be enough. The terms will have to be spelled out in writing, signed off by the Council and Capt. Morran.”

  Nesbitt nodded.

  “That can be arranged.”

  “This deal is unprecedented,” Vega protested, but with less conviction than before. “It will haunt us for years.”

  “So is the situation we face,” Nesbitt replied. “Sometimes unprecedented challenges require unprecedented solutions.”

  Arliss felt a flicker of hope. Fragile, but real. The hope of bringing about genuine change felt like something out of a dream. Not just for himself or his family, but for all Blends. His parents would have been proud. Now the difficult bit began: Wording the proposal. Arliss asked to join in.

  He had ideas …

  22

  ENNIS

  DEFEAT TASTED LIKE ASH. Ennis stared at the framed doctrine scroll on the wall behind his desk. The sacred texts offered no solace today. Nor did Councilor Seska Treymane, whose unannounced arrival only deepened his humiliation.

  What was there to say? Urns earlier, he stood at the precipice of triumph. Now his vision for a new Southern Platte felt more distant than ever.

  “The agreement is being implemented,” Treymane said, not bothering to take a seat. “The hostage exchange is underway. Barring a last-minup disruption by a lunatic – or someone of Lefflin Drace's bent – they should complete it without incident.”

  Ennis didn't answer. Didn't even bother to swivel his chair and face the woman who had, until today, been his closest ally on the Council.

  “The Pure Breathers will need time to regroup,” she said. “Some are already questioning your ... leadership.”

  That did the trick. He whirled about.

  “My leadership? Keet's betrayal blindsided us all.”

  “Did it?” Treymane's oval eyes narrowed. “The Whisper suggested you were warned about his wavering loyalty.”

  She wasn't wrong, but he doubted the Whisper said as much. Seska had a knack for goading her way into an answer.

  “The Whisper gave no indication of impending obstacles. It …”

  “Perhaps you misinterpreted its guidance.” Treymane cut him off. “Or perhaps you heard only what you wished to hear.”

  The terms of the Sinquin Compromise illuminated on his desk's flat glass reader. Ennis leaned forward and scanned it, each item like a knife between his ribs.

  “This deal goes beyond a simple hostage exchange.”

  “Indeed. The Council's decision to form a joint Blend-Tetonian security force for the Servo District was unexpected. But temporary, until the inquests into past abuses are completed.”

  “A temporary measure that sets a dangerous precedent.” Ennis wanted to pound the reader into a thousand shards. “Once they establish this foothold, normalization of relations will follow. Everything we've worked for …”

  “Will require patience to salvage.” Treymane ran her hand across his desk, stopping above the right-hand drawers. “I'll speak with our allies. They remain committed, even if they question your methods.”

  The implication lit a fire in his gut. They question me, not the cause. Treymane was already positioning herself as an alternative leader for the Pure Breathers. An absurd concept.

  “You deserve a healthy share of the blame for our setback.”

  “Oh, please, Ennis. Do tell. I can't wait to hear this one.”

  He pointed to the agreement.

  “You capitulated too early in the drafting. I saw no resistance when they expanded the terms to favor Blends.”

  She wagged a dismissive finger.

  “Anything less than cooperation at that stage would have been foolish. I can tell my constituents I acted for the greater good of Vandress. You weren't exactly leading the charge, Ennis, wounded as you were.”

  The comm on his desk flashed red with a codex for the incoming stream. Ennis recognized the source.

  “Thank you for diminishing what remains of my day, Seska. As the Fourth Wind Reading tells us, 'Trust given freely returns tenfold, while friendship earned serves eternal.' Now, if you would. I need privacy for this call.”

  Treymane shook her head and steamed toward the exit.

  “We lost today, Ennis. Luckily, we're young.”

  After she departed, Ennis accepted the call. Morran's face appeared, his expression guarded.

  “Report, Captain.”

  “The exchange is proceeding smoothly,” Morran said. “Dubai is proving effective at calming the Blend insurgents.”

  “Of course he is. He's their hero now.” Ennis couldn't hide the bitterness. “You could have stopped this.”

  “By lying about what I witnessed?” Morran's face hardened. “I maintained our confidentiality, Councilor. No one knows of our arrangement. But ordering the murders of children crosses a line.”