PART ONE

> I shall withhold judgment.

- Proverb for followers of Gwat

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“You weren’t in your right mind.”

“The deaths were not your fault.”

“You fought the effects of insanity gas.”

“You did your best.”

Ariock gathered pebbles of truth from the whirlwind of excuses concocted by nussian battle captains. He gathered that a lot of people had tried to stop him.

Like Thomas. He had given the initial warning.

Thomas was the Wisdom of ancient prophecy, yet everyone on the war council had dismissed his misgivings. Ariock remembered that part clearly.

Then Garrett had made multiple attempts to stop Ariock. So had Jinishta. Orla. Shevrael. Vedlor. Fayfer and the pilots of the Cloud Fleet. Garrett again and again. Garrett had nearly died in his failed attempts.

None of them were here. Maybe they were too terrified to face the Giant, after what he had done.

Ariock sat on the hastily carpeted floor of an assembly hall beneath Flawless City, the headquarters for an anti-Torth guerrilla resistance operation. More than half of his territories on the planet Nuss were now occupied by Torth. CloudShadow MetroHub and other cities were badly damaged from his earthquakes and storms.

Battle captains stood between hanging lanterns that made their armored skin shine like beaten gold or bronze. It was stuffy in the room without air conditioning, but nussians didn’t mind heat. Weptolyso crouched nearby. Evenjos had given herself a chair.

She was the one who had finally stopped him.

Evenjos had tended to Ariock like an angel, bringing him water as he woke up, answering his initial questions in a reassuring tone. He’d gotten a brief summary. Evenjos, it seemed, had overcome her fears and risked her very existence in a one-shot gamble with a nussian tranquilizer dart.

He didn’t need Garrett to explain that the Transformation of Strength had come to pass. He had seen the prophetic painting.

“You were self-controlled, despite the neurotoxin,” Evenjos said, as if she still needed to soothe him. “Instead of causing a planetary apocalypse, you only destroyed a desert. That required valiant self-control.”

Valiant. Really?

Ariock pulled away from her. His favorite Alashani premiers and warriors were dead. Thousands of his people were dead or enslaved. It was all his fault, no matter what excuses people made for the Son of Storms.

A nussian captain rumbled, “Well, he also destroyed a few outposts.”

“And a city,” another one said.

Nussians could be counted on to offer the unvarnished truth. Knowledge was worth pain, as the nussian proverb went.

“Even so,” Evenjos said. “That much restraint, under those conditions? It must have required immense inner strength.”

The nussian captains exchanged looks to make sure none of them would dare disagree. Then they rumbled their unanimous support.

Ariock did not believe them. How many of their loved ones were dead now because of him? He felt sure that if he could read minds, he would detect seething bitterness beneath their kindness.

He needed frank bluntness. He wanted to nudge their brutal honesty to the surface.

“How many people did I kill?” Ariock asked.

“You should not look at it that way,” Evenjos said. “There were deaths. But no one died because of your intent.”

“It was the Torth,” a captain assured him.

“No one blames you, if they understand what happened,” Weptolyso said.

Ariock clenched his fists, frustrated by their forgiveness. It had to be false. Why were they afraid to tell him the plain truth? Did they fear that he would fly into a towering rage?

The nussian captains looked wary, thorns protruding.

Evenjos gripped his arm and gave him a warning look. Ariock followed her glances, and saw sand and grit hanging in midair. That was not her doing.

He had subconsciously expanded his awareness.

Abashed, Ariock reeled it in, making himself as small and meek as possible. Control was vital. Control was everything. He must never allow himself to get angry, or the least bit frustrated, ever again. Anger was off limits from now until the end of time.

He rephrased his question in a reasonable tone. “How many people died?”

Evenjos and Weptolyso exchanged looks.

“We don’t know.” Evenjos chose her words with care.

“More than a million,” Weptolyso said.

The truth was so painful, Ariock flinched. He felt crushed by the weight of it.

But pain was what he deserved.

He braced himself, and then forced out an even more difficult question. “What happened to Jinishta?”

Weptolyso bowed his head in a gesture of mourning. “I am told she did not survive.”

Ariock had believed himself ready for bad news, but it hit him harder than he expected. He had taken his albino cousin for granted. They were supposed to have a long future together, with many battles ahead.

Jinishta had befriended Thomas even though her people wanted nothing to do with rekvehs. She was a force of nature without being a stormbringer. Her people would follow her anywhere. And she had supported Ariock without ever challenging him. Not even once.

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How would Ariock manage the Alashani without her? They wanted no part of this war.

He needed Jinishta.

He absolutely needed her.

How would he cope without her stern advice, and that kindhearted nature that she kept so well-hidden? She had been like an older sister to him. She had sacrificed more than anyone should.

And for what? She had died violently.

Because of him.

“Orla?” Ariock had to work to keep anxiety out of his tone. “What about Orla?” He really needed to hear something miraculous.

Evenjos shushed Weptolyso before he could rumble a response.

“He should be told,” Weptolyso said.

That made the devastation obvious. Ariock curled around the pain. He had murdered some of the best people on his side. How could anyone stand to look at him?

“Fayfer is alive,” Weptolyso said.

But much of the Cloud fleet was a wreck. Pilots were missing. As for the hundred-plus warriors Ariock had brought into that desert? There weren’t even any remains to bury. Ariock had folded them into the desert in his mad rage.

“We will discuss this later,” Evenjos told Ariock with crisp kindness that he surely did not deserve. Her manner was almost gruff, the way Garrett might sound. “You should rest.”

The suggestion was obscene, in light of what Ariock had done. “I don’t need more rest.” Hadn’t he already slept for two days, while Evenjos healed him?

What he wanted, instead of unearned relaxation, was brutal honesty. He wanted a purely honest reaction to the disaster which he had perpetrated.

He knew who he needed to seek out.

Thomas would not mince words. Thomas must remember how Ariock had ignored his very explicit warning.

And why?

Because of idiocy.

After so many victories, Ariock must have begun to believe his own hype. Deep down, he must have thought he was indestructible. Now Jinishta was dead because of his erroneous pride. A million innocent people were dead. He had ignored advice from the strategic mastermind who’d made every single one of his victories possible. What sort of idiot did that?

Ariock figured he owed more apologies than he could ever give, but at least he knew where to start. He needed to give Thomas the respect he was due.

“I’m going to Reject-20.” Ariock stood, avoiding one of the unlit chandeliers.

Evenjos looked more concerned than ever. “As a medical advisor,” she said, “I strongly advise that you take some time before you do anything that resembles work.”

How diplomatic. She was trying to keep him away from potential rage triggers.

The last anyone had heard from Freedomland, Thomas was warding off an invasion. Supercoms were no longer working, so no one knew how—or if—that battle had ended. The news reports had been chaotic and unbelievable.

For all anyone knew, Vy was a slave. Or dead.

Ariock needed to find out.

He began to put himself into a clairvoyant trance. But before he could loosen his mental tether to his body, he hesitated. Wasn’t teleportation the last thing he had attempted to do before…?

It was. He had tried to ghost while on insanity gas.

If it had worked, then Ariock would have lost control of his powers in CloudShadow MetroHub, or even Freedomland. He could easily have destroyed everyone he loved.

Could he trust himself, even now? What if some malignant trace of the gas lingered in his system, like a ticking time bomb, waiting to activate?

“I would like to check on my mate, Yuey.” Weptolyso seemed to be wrestling with his own inner worries.

Another captain swung his head in deference to Weptolyso. “We will defend our cities here. The Torth think they have won?” He snorted in disdain. “But we are still free.”

That sounded heroic.

And it reminded Ariock that the free universe could not afford multiple days of his absence. During his drugged sleep, while Evenjos healed his brain, many cities under his protection had fallen. Every day he hid would likely entail another victory for the Torth.

Ariock considered combat.

But when he imagined expanding his awareness across miles of broken urban terrain, where enemies roamed … and getting angry.…

There was no way around it. If he meant to rip transports out of the sky, or crush Torth with a telekinetic grip, he would have to feel strong feelings. That was what combat was. It was unrestrained rage.

Too risky. Bad idea.

Were there calmer ways in which he could support the guerrilla fighters? He could mass-teleport supplies to them. He imagined visiting various depots and survivor groups. Ariock could move troops to wherever they were most needed…

…Where Torth pilots might fly overhead and spray him with insanity gas. They’d find it easy while he was in a clairvoyant trance, oblivious to the world around him.

Ariock shuddered. A familiar feeling of helplessness washed over him. He had not felt vulnerable in a long time, but it was a feeling he knew well.

The Torth Empire owned more than ninety-nine percent of the universe. They had multiple super-geniuses. What did Ariock have, against all of that? What made him audacious enough to try to conquer the entire galaxy? Some crazily ambitious friends? Some ancient prophecies?

“Will you help us fight, Son of Storms?” a battle captain asked.

Ariock really wanted to help. Perhaps he would consider workarounds? Maybe he could carry tranquilizer darts, and inject himself if he began to feel the least bit irrationally anger?

But he wanted to discuss any ideas with Thomas, first. All plans ought to come from the Wisdom of the prophecies.

“I’m sorry,” Ariock said. “I don’t think I can be much use to you right now.”

The captains looked dismayed and disappointed.

“I will stay and fight the Torth.” Weptolyso reached into a pouch slung across his chest plates and handed Ariock a data marble. “Will you please see that this gets to Yuey?”

Ariock recognized the form of a recorded message. “I will.” He took the marble, and addressed the line of captains. “I’ll deliver anything or anyone you want to send with me to Freedomland.” It seemed the least he could do.

Evenjos pursed her lips as the captains scrambled to record holographic messages. Perhaps she thought delivery work was beneath his station?

No, that was unfair. She probably just thought Ariock needed more rest.

“Thank you for saving me.” Ariock sat so he could face her. “I think you may have saved this planet.”

Evenjos looked up at him, her lavender eyes bright with interest. “Are we even? Is all forgiven between us?”

Ariock hesitated.

The problem with Evenjos was that she treated serious matters like they were games. She had mimicked Vy and attempted to rape Ariock. A non-violent rape, but still, she clearly had no respect for consent. Could he wholeheartedly forgive Evenjos for that? And for stranding Vy in a dangerous mountain wilderness?

Evenjos looked away. “I truly am sorry.”

Ariock had a vague memory of Vy appearing to him while he was in the midst of his drug-induced rage.

He knew, without a doubt, that it had been Evenjos in disguise. That false Vy had torn at his armor using powers, then extended an ultra-long arm and stabbed him in the neck. The real Vy would not, could not, do that.

Evenjos slumped. “I know that I promised to never mimic her again. I swear, it was the only way I could think to get you to let down your power shields, if only for a second. Otherwise I could not have stopped your destruction.”

And this planet would be destroyed.

“I can’t be angry at you for that.” Ariock gave her hands a gentle squeeze, frustrated by his own hypocrisy. Did he need it spelled out? He had murdered his own friends by accident. What gave him any right to be judgmental towards the woman who had saved this planet?

“We’re on the same side.” Ariock let go of his last shreds of animosity towards Evenjos. She was a friend.

Besides, Evenjos could have molested Ariock while he was on the inhibitor and crazed from insanity gas. They had been alone together inside a cozy glacial cavern. He would have been easy to take advantage of. Instead? Evenjos had fixed his devastating, uncontrolled rage.

“I forgive you for everything,” Ariock said. “And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

There was nothing seductive in her grin. She only looked patient. “Of course.”

“Would you like me to take you to Freedomland?” Ariock felt a bit foolish for asking. Lots of people on Nuss would be grateful for healing from the Lady of Sorrow. She would probably want to stay and—

“Take me with you.” She held his gaze. “Please. I fear that insanity gas as much as you do.”

Ariock saw the depths of her fear.

And her compassion. He saw that too, for the first time. Evenjos alone understood his planet-sized guilt.

Stormbringers were weapons. They could be turned against their own people. Evenjos understood that. Ultra-powerful Yeresunsa were not safe to be around, especially with super-genius enemies involved. That was a fact.

Ariock had apparently needed to learn it the hard way.

“I misjudged you,” he confessed. “You’re not a coward. You were never a coward.”

“I don’t know about that.” Evenjos looked down. She held his massive hand with both of hers. It seemed a sisterly gesture, the way Jinishta used to be, without any sexual charge to her touch.

What would Jinishta say about all this?

If his albino cousin were here, maybe she would offer stern advice about whether he should dare go into a battle zone ever again. She would probably suggest some way for him to face Vy and Thomas with a tiny shred of self-respect. If she only…

Ariock could not hold his tears back any longer. He stifled his sobs, keeping them silent.

He was a screw up. He was worse than Evenjos. He was worse than anyone.

“Shh.” Evenjos held him, and used a wing to shield him from curious nussians. “Let’s get you home. Let’s get you to Vy.”