Sevhalim led Galen out onto the balcony, to a low stone bench between two large potted trees. He sat at one end, leaving plenty of room for Galen to keep a fair distance between them, but Galen sat at his side.

A crisp, citrusy scent perfumed the air, like a mix of oranges and jasmine, and after a moment, Galen realized it came from the trees. They bore no fruit, and it was not the season for blossoms, and he wondered what they were called and whence they came.

Sev gave him plenty of time to entertain these thoughts, as he seemed to be gathering his own, and Galen did not rush him.

Finally, with his pale face gilded by the swiftly sinking sun, he spoke in a soft, even voice, as if telling a story in which he played only an observer's part.

"Like all who become Hands, I recall almost nothing of my life before the Order. But it hardly matters if I was a beggar's son or a queen's; once the Order took me, that life came to an end as irrevocable as death.

"I remember thinking that the Hand who found me was kind; and I suppose he must have been, at least by comparison. I was too ill to walk, and he let me ride in front of him on his horse. Most foods disagreed with me, but he fed me rich marrow broth and soft bread, and I had my first taste of applesauce, of which I am still fond. I was weak of constitution and chilled easily, but he wrapped me in thick furs and kept me warm. By the time we reached the monastery at Jana Val, I felt better than I ever had before, and wondered if perhaps I might not be so sickly after all."

He looked up, squinting against the brightness in the sky, his silvery eyes tinged blue by the reflection, and frowned.

"The healers looked at me, of course. Something about the 'cure' doesn't work on those whose bodies are sound. Mine, they told me, was not. Something wrong with my heart, they said. Its beat stumbled and tripped, and before long, it would fail. Andren had found me just in time. Still, the choice had to be mine: the cure must be taken willingly."

He paused again, and in the silence, Galen listened as a soft breeze stirred the little chimes that hung in the sweetly scented trees. When Sev spoke again, it was in hardly more than a whisper, and his lips barely moved.

"They asked me if I wanted to live," he said. "I was five years old. I barely understood death enough to fear it, but of course I said I did. They told me I must promise, on my life, to obey without question, and that if I failed to do so, my life was forfeit. The Order had given it to me, and so it belonged to them. I belonged to them."

Galen grimaced. "What a terrible thing to tell a child."

Sevhalim's mouth curved in a slight smile. "Is it? To a child who had never belonged to anyone, who had lived without hope, shadowed by illness, it sounded wonderful. Besides the few things I recall of the journey to Jana Val, that is perhaps the first time I remember feeling something like happiness. And for a long while afterward, it was the last."

His gaze lowered from the sky to his hands, folded in his lap, and the breeze played with his long, loose hair. Galen had seldom seen it out of a braid, and had a strange urge to touch it, which he suppressed.

"Fortunately, I have little memory of anything past that point, for what memories I have are of pain." Sev continued. "I remember a strange room with a strange bath full of strange liquid, and of something sharp piercing my arm. I remember my veins turning blue, visible beneath my skin, and then a pain like fire in my blood. After that, my next memory is of being praised for the correct use of a spoon."

"A... spoon?" Galen could not hide the surprise in his tone, and Sev glanced at him and smiled.

"I later discovered that those who take the 'cure' emerge as if newly born. They must relearn all that they have learned before: how to walk, how to speak, how to eat. A few fortunate ones recover some fragments of memory; the unfortunate remain as mindless beasts, and must be destroyed as such. It seems I had shown little improvement up to that point, and such might have been my fate if I had not chosen that day to display such an impressive skill."

The hint of a sharp, self-deprecating smile touched his lips, but Galen felt appalled and uneasy as Sevhalim continued his tale.

"After that, my memory is more intact; from about a year after, it is nearly perfect. I remember my first training sessions — the jolt and sting as the mock weapons clashed – and the first time an injury triggered the dormant power of the Hand. That was another point at which many proved unworthy of the 'gift' they bore. I had seven fellow trainees at that point. By the end of the month, I had three. I later learned fifteen had taken the cure the same year as myself. At the end of it, only myself and one other remained."

Galen swallowed a sick feeling at the back of his throat. "They... died?"

"One way or another... yes. They died. As they would have, if they hadn't taken the cure."

Uncertain how to feel about this, Galen stayed silent. Seeming to guess his thoughts, Sevhalim smiled grimly.

"A sick child takes the 'Cure,' but a healthy child is not the result," he said. "What goes in is not the same as what comes out. The result is, instead, an unfinished form — clay to be molded into a weapon or a tool."

"But what is it?" Galen asked. "What is the 'cure?'"

Sevhalim looked away. "Something the Order cooked up. We were told it is an elixir made from the blood of a demon, and that when it mingles with our own blood, it changes it — awakens something within. It gives us extraordinary strength, stamina, and reflexes; enhances our senses, improves our memory. But like everything that sounds too good to be true, it has a downside, as well. Every time we 'use' the power of the Hand, there's a chance we will be 'taken' by it. Lose our minds entirely, in other words, and become... well, monsters, I suppose."

"And then?" Galen asked anxiously.

"Then we die," Sev said simply. "Or, rather, we must be put down like rabid dogs. If we are not, we will kill and destroy all in our paths until the fire consumes us from within."

"Is there no... er..."

"Cure?" Sev supplied wryly. "No. Once 'taken' there is no coming back. It is the fate of all Hands. Or so I thought, before we came here."

"Then why risk it?" Galen asked. "If you don't use the Hand, it can't take you, can it?"

Sev shook his head. "You don't understand. It's what we are. We are children of the Order — raised to obey, to serve, to put duty before all else. We are reminded every day to whom we owe our lives and to whom we belong. Leaving is... was... unthinkable."

"So you just do whatever you're told until you die?" Galen did his best to hide his distaste at the idea — it wasn't for him to judge — but from the twist of Sev's lips he guessed he had failed.

"More or less. I am fortunate that most of my 'missions' have not been disagreeable. I have never been asked to do anything to which I objected. Until recently, that is."

Sev cast a sideways glance at him, then rose and walked to the edge of the balcony, looking over as he leaned upon the carved stone rail.

Galen watched him for a moment before joining him.

"It's a good life, while it lasts," Sev said, watching the doves do one last loop of the Haven as the sun slipped below the rim. "I've seen wonders, and been gifted with abilities of which others can only dream. I've always been grateful to the Hand who found me. That's what I told myself, anyway, whenever I delivered a child to Jana Val."

"You... took children there?"

Sev nodded. "Not many, but yes. Whenever, in my travels, I came across a child of the right age with an illness beyond the skill of healers to help, I would make the offer. A handful of times it was taken up, and I returned to Jana Val with my charge. At first, I felt as if, by saving these others, I was repaying the man who had saved me. But after the fourth or fifth time, I became less sure. As I've said: what comes out is not what goes in. When the children — those who survived — had recovered, none remembered or recognized me; none had any memory of their former selves. Even their personalities — what little I knew of them — had changed. The body survives, yes; but the person inside?" He shook his head. "Those children might as well have died. And yet, being grateful for my own existence, would I deny others the same chance? I left it to the priests and philosophers to sort out, and stuck to my duty as a Hand. And so I have continued to do, until now."

Turning towards him, Sev's shadowed eyes traveled Galen's face.

"If we had not come here, I would have brought you to them, having convinced myself that it was my duty to do so, and that I did a good thing."

"But... you've changed your mind?"

"I have. Anira has changed it. After you healed Iksthanis, she revealed all to me, and I have no reason to doubt that what she says is the truth. It is not the blood of a demon that runs in my veins, Galen; it is the blood of one born of a god. The blood of a p'yrha."

Galen took a step back in surprise. "What?"

Sev nodded. "The p'yrha is a focal point of magic; an axis on which a world's fate may tip. Anira believes the Order... harvests... that power, and harnesses it for their own use. With it, they create the Hands to work their Will, to sustain balance and order in the empire, and to replenish the magic that rests in Jana Val — the Heart of Sakkara. They say that if the heart goes dark, the world will die."

"Wait." Galen held up a hand. "What is this 'heart,' and why haven't you mentioned it before?"

"I haven't seen it," Sev said. "No one outside the highest among the Order has. It's something in the mountain beneath the monastery — something that connects all of Sakkara, like the stem connecting the roots and branches of a great tree. According to Anira, it isn't natural. Mages created it long ago to bring 'order' from chaos. Its power is not infinite, but wanes over time, and so it must be... replenished. Every twenty years, or thereabout."

Galen blinked and swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "So you're saying... if I don't go to Jana Val, the world will end?"

Sev shook his head. "I don't know what will happen; I only know I won't be a part of it anymore."

"Why not?"

Sevhalim met his eyes, an oddly intense expression silvering his own, and swallowed. "Because... it seems that I have—"

"Sevhalim! Omalan Sevhalim!"

The door to the inner room burst open, and a wild-looking man with dark skin and blue eyes rushed in. He cast about for a moment before spotting them on the balcony.

"Sevhalim!"

"That is my name," answered he, moving slightly in front of Galen. "You may stop shouting it now."

The man glared and caught his breath. "You're wanted in the council chambers, Omalan. Immediately."

"Oh? I thought I wasn't to leave this room until—"

"This is more important."

"More important than ensuring I don't lose my mind and burn the place down?"

"Several maps of the area, including ones that show the Haven's location, have gone missing," the man said.

"Have they?" Sev raised his brows.

The man nodded curtly. "Yes. And so has Rea."