Over a dozen boys crowded Blakely's common room, their cheers and shouts greeting me. A sports broadcast blared over the holo-vision, the last hockey play-offs of the season. Gerald sat amid the commotion, rooting for the Michigattan Sentinels with the others. I'd hoped to meet him in our room, to speak with him about Tamsin, but he refused to wave, or even look at me. Without a second glance, I headed upstairs.

I finished my studies, then collapsed into bed. When I woke the next morning, Gerald had departed early, avoiding the conversation. Eventually, I'd catch him, whether he liked it or not.

Mother called me during lunch break. Eager for privacy, I sneaked to a bench in the square before answering.

Her face appeared washed and weary on hologram, as if she endured the toil of centuries. "Hello, my son. I've just touched down at the port. Are you excited for our outing?"

"Of course. I've always wanted to see Larossi."

She pursed her lips in sarcasm. "Your uncle chose an alluring locale. He'll try to evade us with his charisma, so be prepared."

The remainder of the school day passed quickly. I watched for any opportunity to engage Gerald, but he still shunned me. It wasn't like him at all. Would he dare to reveal my affair? I decided not to dwell on it, needing all of my wits for the family excursion.

After a hot bath, I prepared for the night's event. I chose a black single-breasted tailcoat with peaked lapels, set with polished onyx. The high-waisted trousers were trimmed with narrow bands of satin down the sides. Slipping the suspenders over my shoulders, I straightened the bib front shirt and starched wingtip collar. A house robot aided me with the onyx cuff links. My bow tie contrasted the ivory waistcoat and monogrammed handkerchief, while my shoes boasted a flawless patent gleam.

When the limousine rolled to the front of Knight's Hall, I adjusted my kid gloves and top hat for a debonair impression.

Mother glided toward me, a plumed fascinator bobbing in her meticulous waved hair. Her gown cascaded to the knees in alternating layers of violet silk. Two long side panels swept the ground with scalloped tassels. Sequins winked as she embraced me, slender amethyst chains trailing from her sleeves. "You look marvelous, my darling. It's wonderful to see you."

I kissed her hand. "You as well. And how was your flight from Luna?"

"Terribly crowded, but I made it in one piece. Come, our time grows short." She slipped an arm through mine, and we climbed into the back seat.

"How are Father and Castor doing?"

Her burnt umber eyes flashed in the glow of passing street lamps. "Very well. Castor aced his exams, and he'll accompany me for the next mission project. Your father visits the homeworld often these days. His support of the Earth Alliance Party knows no bounds, and he's hosting several parties and meetings with their candidates. I believe he'll run for office if it continues thus."

"Really?" I dusted the brim of my top hat, and set it in my lap. "You believe he'll go that far?"

She grinned. "I'm being sarcastic. But would it surprise you if he did?"

"I can't say it would. His political ambitions grow stronger by the day."

Thirty minutes later, we sped over the Skyline Bridge. Lights arced along its cables and towering pylons. Such a beautiful city resembled the expanse above--white embers glinting upon the eternal veil of night. The Herald Of Liberty's magnificent torch bloomed across the dark water, slurred in rippling glory. No wonder this metropolis had such a luminous nickname.

Misty rain flecked the windows as we entered the downtown entertainment district. Cars and hovercraft jostled fender to fender outside the Michigattan Civic Theater, neon signs and headlights streaking over the damp pavement. People in elegant attire hurried to the box office. Scrolling across the marquee, beneath an edifice of radiating steel and chrome, Piero Larossi's name and holographic image beckoned.

Our chauffeur parked at the end of the VIP lane, where a long red carpet marked with silken ropes awaited us.

"Goodness," Mother said. "I didn't expect the media to be here in such droves. We'll have to endure them."

Reporters and photographers clamored for our attention.

Mother lifted her chin to an attractive angle, posing briefly before the blinding barrage of flash bulbs.

The publicity thrilled me. I wanted everyone to know my name, and to associate me with the grandest events in society. Before we passed through the doors, I waved with a dashing grin. Questions avalanched upon my ears, microphones jabbing for a comment.

"Silas, hurry up," Mother said. "We'll be here all night if you indulge those hounds."

With a sigh, I removed my hat, and followed her inside.

I'd seen images of the Michigattan Civic Theater before, but I was astonished by its actual opulence. Plush velvet carpeting, canopies of rich azure hues, murals depicting stylized heroes and creatures of myth--all encompassed the immense curve of a double stairwell, shining with alabaster and brass railings. Voices and laughter buzzed in anticipation. Dignified men and women nodded and smiled in passing, sipping spirits out of glistening crystal. Expensive perfume and condescension wafted with every turning head and arrogant posture.

An usher bowed, dressed in resplendent black tails and white silk. "Welcome, my friends, to the greatest venue in the known worlds."

Mother handed her fur-trimmed evening cape to an adjacent robot. "How enchanting."

"We're honored to host you this evening, Mr. and Mrs. Blane," the usher said. "Your reservation awaits, as does our esteemed guest, Mr. Jaster. Please follow me."

We ascended a spiral ramp, frescoes of gods and sirens surrounding. Scaly tails and limbs swirled among whimsical marine flora and fauna. Gold-plated cornices formed a pleasing border of shells, crowns, and rosettes. The largest chandelier I'd ever seen hung from the center. Light streamed from its eight brass and chrome fins, tapering to an ornate starfish medallion. Geometric panes of blue and translucent glass receded in tiers around the center, where a stem of pearls rotated. Painted sea nymphs romped across the ceiling in whorls of drifting hair.

Footmen in fine velvet attire showed us into our private balcony. Within, Uncle Holten lounged upon a plush chair. He crushed his cigarette into a silver ashtray, and stood to greet us. Smoldering eyes countered his pristine smile, his chocolate brown hair set in a sleek side part. His robotic leg whirred gently as he approached.

"There you are. Octavia, I daresay you look beautiful." He kissed her gloved hand.

Mother withdrew with a graceful twirl of her fingers. "The last time we met, you insulted me. And now you shower me with praise. Do make up your mind. Your inconsistency is most unbecoming."

His laughter crashed like the waves painted around us. "If only you knew how single-minded I've been. But I'm starved, as you must be. Let's enjoy a family dinner while we discuss more...obscure matters."

We claimed our seats at the table. Candles danced on a wrought iron stand, fresh fruit and bread presented within a quaint basket. A service robot uncorked a bottle of wine, and poured for Mother first.

She sipped, nodding appreciatively. "Delicious. I never believed a theater had any dining worth a mention."

"Alexa's, the most upscale seafood restaurant in Michigattan, is next door. And they cater well. Wait until you see the main course." Uncle Holten glanced at me. "Would it be a sin to allow Silas a drop?"

"I suppose not. You may have one glass if you like, my son."

The robot was an embellished custodian unit, gilded with brilliant chrome patterns along its frame. It handed me the wine, optical pane agleam. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Jaster?"

"Not at the moment." Uncle Holten rested his elbows on the table, against all propriety. "Please leave us until the appetizers arrive."

"Of course, sir." The robot's electronic voice crackled in obedience, and the footman closed the curtain behind it.

Mother squeezed my hand under the table, flicking her eyes once in my direction.

"You don't have to hide your agenda with me, sister. I sensed your power fawning at me when you arrived." He yawned. "I've waited a long time for this meeting."

"As have I," Mother said. "You know the reason I've called upon you."

His clean-shaven lips twitched, and he lowered his eyes over regally clasped hands. "Of course. We discussed this years ago, and my answer is unchanged. Leave it be. Leave those degenerates and their distortions of the Old Ways. We'll teach your sons, and their children, and the knowledge will continue within our line--as it was always meant to be."

Her fist bunched around the table cloth, tottering her wine glass. "How can you go on knowing of their guilt, and refuse to help me? With Silas at our side, and our allies within the Circles, we won't fail."

He sparked another cigarette, his gold-plated lighter inset with an artistic portrayal of a wolf's skull. "Let me help you understand. The ones responsible are not the ones you seek. You still insist it was the bitch Blevasnya's fault. And, by association, her little bitch-pup, Selketh. The Order is a sham--a cover for something far more malign. And far more powerful than you. Take my example, and leave them."

Mother appeared as an ivory statue, moved only by conviction. "The Order was Olfar's gift to the free worlds. It only needs to be restored to its proper greatness. You can't turn your back on that. Please, help me."

He shook his head. "There's nothing within that peck of worthless cronies worth salvaging. I imagine their next Lady will be the vapid young girl who follows Selketh like a religious zealot. The Forsyth girl. She's your age, Silas. What's her name again?"

I reflected his gentility. "Imogen. Or Initiate Maeve."

"Ah yes, that one. She's a perfect example of The Order's future. Indoctrinated followers with no substance, and no esoteric abilities whatsoever, stumbling through those nauseating theatrics every full moon and solstice. At least, that's what they want you to think. You've been deceived, Silas, even by your mother. But something tells me you already know this, and are playing your own game with us now."

Mother lashed to her feet. "If you weren't my kin, I'd slice your cur's throat with my own talons."

"Dear sister, as you say inconsistency isn't becoming of me, preposterous outbursts do little for your own complexion." He took a deep drag, and observed her with a raised brow. "Sit, and regain your senses, while Silas asks his questions."

I interjected. "I'd like that."

"Very well." She sat down, still trembling.

"First, I have a message for you, Mother. A warning about the Inner Quorum. I've been told they're aware of your dealings, and are watching us as a result."

She sputtered on her wine. "Who told you this?"

"A classmate of mine. He goes by seeker Elifas within the Circles."

"Oh. Cyrilio's boy. They're among those we can trust." She quieted somewhat, returning to her usual serene pallor. "When you see him again, thank him. Also, tell him to be at ease. His father knows the right moment for us to act."

The sound of tuning strings came from the theater beyond, muffled by the concealing drapery.

"We have about fifteen minutes until showtime," Uncle Holten said. "Ask away, Silas. The stage is yours."

I noted the firm press of my mother's lips, and realized her brother riled her in the worst way--knowledge which might be useful sometime. "Tell me exactly what your plan for The Order entails, Mother."

"Soon, I'll protest the authority of Lady Selketh, and others among the Inner Circles. They'll stand trial before the Empty Council, for desecration of the Old Ways, and continual suppression of the seekers." Her dark irises fixed upon me.

"I see. But what will happen after you depose them? Who will lead The Order then?"

Uncle Holten laughed, deep and arrogant, yet he said nothing.

Mother glared at him. "I will lead them. I should have been appointed Lady after Blevasnya. It was Olfar's wish. After his death, they removed me from the succession, so Selketh could supersede me. She's only steered the Circles into oblivion, and muddied the ceremonies with nonsense ever since. I'll set everything right."

"Most intriguing." I leaned toward her, resting my chin on steepled fingers. "One more thing I wish to ask of you--what exactly happened the day Olfar died? I want to know the facts about his murder."

She flinched. "It's painful to recall, but I'll tell you what I witnessed. I was at Olfar's house on Tri-Jovian that afternoon. He was teaching me certain lore and rituals, preparing me for a future role as the Lady. Several people arrived at his door, all dressed in black, and bearing the etched skull masks and scepters of the highest Inner Quorum. Before he admitted them, he ordered me to hide beneath a trapdoor in the floor. I refused, knowing the distrust he held for Lady Blevasnya.

"He did what any stalwart patriarch of the Jaster clan would. He forced me into the secret storage space. 'Stay quiet if you want to live,' he said. They entered, and surrounded him. I watched it all, through a crack in the floorboards. Once they'd restrained him, they forced him to his knees. Two men bore firearms to compel him. And then, Lady Blevasnya poured Asulma down his throat. It was the most horrible thing I've ever endured, listening to him choke, poisoned with the sacred elixir of our ancestors. I was paralyzed with terror, but I saw their faces when they removed their masks to devote the sacrifice. Blevasnya. Her puppet, Selketh. Abraxos. The one they call Levay, Lord of the Amerixcan Circles. And another whom I'll never forget--a Pruessian elder, with a countenance akin to death itself."

Uncle Holten breathed sharply.

"You've always accused me of being craven at that moment, Holten. Indeed, I was. But when I look back, I realize I did what was necessary to survive. Now, I'll bring revenge to our loving Olfar. With or without your aid." She hung her head. "If you won't join me, then give me one small piece of information."

His expression was detached. "What do you want of me?"

"A name." Tension snapped between them like the air before a thunderstorm. "The Pruessian whom Lady Blevasnya consorted with--he's one of the perpetrators. Tell me who he is."

He exhaled a lazy plume. "I won't. For the last time, stay away from them, Octavia."

She looked as if she wanted to murder him. Fortunately, we were interrupted by a polite call at the entrance.

"Distinguished sirs, madam, your appetizer course is here," the usher said, remaining discreetly on the other side.

The smoked salmon mousse pinwheels were delightful, a fresh salad topped with chopped seaweed and sesame at the side. Nevertheless, an anxious silence hovered around the table. The clink of silver on china, along with the hum of the robot as it refilled the wine, did little to calm my nerves. What I'd just learned about Grandfather Kraelis's death was shocking.

"May I ask you something now, Uncle?"

His smile angled to one side, and he crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in his seat. "Certainly."

"Why do you refuse to indict the murderers? It sounds as if you're afraid of them."

"Why, yes. If you want to know, I am afraid of them. And you should be as well." He addressed Mother with an assured tone. "I do want the guilty ones to suffer. But the truth is, The Order is controlled by the Kresitegn--the ancient shamanic circles in Pruessia."

Mother scoffed. "Why assume such a conspiracy? Lady Selketh isn't clever enough to maintain subterfuge of that magnitude."

"Don't underestimate her. I showed you the evidence years ago." He tapped his fingers on the table in impatience. "Yet you still deny it. If you challenge the Kreistegn, you'll engage the might of the Kaezer himself. It would be dangerous to all of us, including your sons. There are other methods...more arcane ways to deal with them. And the results will be far more devastating, I assure you."

"You dare propose such things?" Her anger surged again. "I don't care if Olfar taught you the hidden Path. It's wrong to trap living things, and hold their spirits against their will. You keep your wicked sorcery out of this, and away from my children. Or I'll send the wrath of the Otherworld to torment you for the rest of your deceitful days. You haven't changed at all. I'd hoped you might see things differently, given that Silas is now a part of the Old Ways. But I was sadly mistaken."

Uncle Holten tossed his head back and laughed. "Octavia. You misunderstand so much. Olfar knew you were too sentimental to wield the ultimate secrets. It's why he never taught them to you."

Her face reddened. "You--"

Before she could retort, the custodian unit returned to clear our plates. Soon after, two more trudged in, offering the next course--steaming giant crab legs, with golden butter sauce waiting to be drizzled over them. I adored seafood, and this was the best I'd ever had.

Mother ate with downcast eyes, her temper defused by the delicacies upon her plate. "I despise you, Holten. But you've always possessed exceptional taste in dining."

He chuckled. "Are you thanking me for my aesthetic sensibilities, or for paying the bill?"

A small smile curled her lips, despite her earlier admonishment. "Both, of course."

"You should smile more often, my dear. And lighten the garish makeup for once. You've such a lovely face--"

She raised a palm, stifling him. "Stop. I'm peeved enough at you as it is. You're lucky we haven't abandoned you and this conversation."

Uncle Holten clucked his tongue. "There, there, no need for such passive hostility. And why would you force poor Silas to leave, because you and I can't agree? He's no longer a child. In the Old Ways, he's now a man, having passed his Rite. I advise you to regard him as such. Fenvolvna isn't a Guardian of forgiveness, and she's fierce to protect her chosen."

"And it's my duty as his mother to protect him. If it requires his submission, so be it. You wouldn't understand, having never known a parent's duty in your rakish life."

"Rakish, is it?" Glancing about to be sure we were alone, his gaze seared through Mother. "Here's a confession for you. A shameful secret, kept from you so as not to humiliate me further. The War accident which took my leg also took my ability to father children. This being the case, all of the next Jaster heirs are yours. Now you might understand my concern for your boys. I regard them as my own sons." He pointed his petite crab fork at her in emphasis. "And let me tell you something else, as you constantly mock me on the subject. Not many women are keen to marry a man who can't give them a family. Thankfully, as I inherited the company, and turned it around from Father's failures, I've learned money can buy whatever I require to satisfy my lustful tendencies."

Mother set her utensils down, her expression disgusted. "Such filth. You'll get no pity from me. Don't speak so in my presence, nor before my son."

"Will you ever stop referring to Silas as 'my son'? I know you bore him well enough. It's very irritating."

"Good. It should irritate you."

Mother's resolve faded by the minute. I could tell she'd given up on recruiting him to her cause. She'd asked me before to try and influence Uncle Holten. This was indeed a game, as he implied. And the field was wide open to me. There was no greater opportunity to confront them about the past, and everything I still wanted to discover. I took a deep breath, and directed a flood of power onto my uncle. Charm, a display of empathy, and sentiment might create the perfect reaction.

"Let's talk about something different, since this is going nowhere," I said. "You mentioned before, Uncle, that Asher Wallace was your best friend. I'd be much obliged if you tell me more about him. Share a good memory, so I might have a pleasant image to relate to, rather than just a name and a scandal."

With those endearing and humble words, my trap was sprung. I knew he suspected my etheric manipulations, as he pretended to brush a spot of lint from sleeve. In reality, he swept my encroaching persuasion away from himself. He was observant, and competent in the use of power. But I hoped to bend him, using skills I'd never tried before on another person.

He poured himself another glass of wine. "I'll tell you a story about him, Silas. My parents--your most contemptible grandparents, Johannes and Berenice Jaster, since your mother insists on using redundant pronouns--insisted I finish university, which I was reluctant to do. I was twenty years old, and excelling in the Path of Sorcery with Olfar, rather than pursuing my academic requirements. All came to a head when my father threatened to disown me if I dallied any longer. I relented, but in the most defiant way. I went to the nearest recruitment office the very next day, and was soon en route to the front in Hepslovia. Accompanying me was my best friend since childhood, in all ways the brother I'd never had--Asher Wallace. He insisted we stay together. And who was I to refuse such loyalty? Though I enlisted to spite my parents, Asher possessed an honest desire to conquer the enemy.

"I was unprepared for the brutality and human suffering I witnessed thereafter. We colonials are secluded from the terrors our earthbound brethren face. Fortunately, Asher and I vowed to protect each other, as comrades in arms. The day I learned how true his friendship ran was the day he saved my life. Mortars bombarded the trenches continuously, until I forgot what it was like when my ears weren't ringing. There is a Hell, I assure you. And it would be best if I don't describe the things we saw.

"Suffice to say, one of those mortars landed near Asher and I. He dove, pushing me to the ground. His bravery saved my vital organs, but my leg and virility were taken in the space of a second's blast." He snapped his fingers, amused by my uncomfortable expression. "Now if you can imagine my horror, and my sense of failure, when I woke some weeks later in the hospital, after being under heavy sedation. It seemed I emerged from a dark, deep cavern, with the sunlight blinding me, and the worst of news delivered to my bedside. I inquired as to Asher's whereabouts, and was told he'd returned to the front--without me there to aid him. Not only this, but my father's heart condition had succumbed to the stress of nearly losing his only son, and he was in critical condition. My father never recovered, and suffered a stroke in the night. I didn't regret his loss one whit. I became CEO of Jaster Construction a few weeks after I was well enough to walk, and began cleaning up the mess my predecessor had left behind.

"My ultimate plan was to bring Asher home, away from the battlefield, but he refused to see to reason. I learned why not long afterward. Asher had given up on a peaceful life, as the woman he cherished had forsaken him. This was when you married Richard, Octavia, and turned your back on the one man who loved you. Even afterward, when you had a chance to be together again, you spurned him. And then you nearly killed his child. I knew you to be irrational at times, but I never imagined you'd be so cruel."

Mother slammed her hand onto the table. "Shut up. Insulting me is one thing, but this is unpardonable."

He showed no empathy. "Is it? And has Richard been even half the man Asher was to you? Have you been honest with your husband about where you are now? Sitting here, with me, the criminal he despises for doing illicit business with the Pruessian Empire. How devious of you."

She gasped. "Enough! Hold your tongue."

"Why? For the sake of 'your son'? To conceal things he should know about you, and who you really are?"

Tears flowed from her eyes, leaving thick lines through her makeup. She gathered her handbag and gloves. "I won't endure this a moment longer."

I was about to intervene, when the outer curtains slid aside, revealing the auditorium in all its splendor. The gold-gilded ceiling dazzled with an elaborate sunburst. Rays splintered in a semblance of light glimmering on water. The legendary oceanic theme continued with a grand figure of the Sea King of lore, enfolding the stage in a masculine embrace. His trident pointed down, toward the indiscriminate fellow standing in the solitary spotlight. All spectators hushed.

The first achingly beautiful notes of the aria soared across the vast space. Larossi's marvelous tenor seized my heart, raising goosebumps along my skin.

"Silas." Mother grabbed my hand.

I tightened my grip around hers. "Please, I want to stay for just a while."

"No. I promised your father I wouldn't leave you alone with my wretch of a brother. Come along at once."

Holten sneered. "Richard isn't Silas's father. Leave him be."

Though I was torn, my own outrage exploded at this remark. I was weary of Uncle Holten's rudeness, as much as Mother was. Our efforts to reach him had backfired, and the game was over. "Richard Blane is my father. And as long as you disrespect my family, I'll avoid you as they do."

We left in due haste.

Mother wept quietly, staring out the window of the limousine, her chin resting on one palm. "I hope you learned what you wanted tonight," she said. "Though I know there's still much you're unaware of."

I shifted in my seat. "I still want to know about this scandal involving the Jasters, but it seems I'm always to be left in the dark about it."

Mother sniffled into her handkerchief, and looked at me with dark tear-swollen eyes. "When you come home for interim, I'll give you my side of the story. I promise I'll tell you everything. My brother is more useless than your grandfather Johannes was. Olfar's teachings only inflated Holten's ego, not his power. He's a hapless joke, and a shame to the Jaster line."

I put my arms around her to console her. "They say there's always one person in every family that deserves a beating. I suppose he's ours."

She giggled, a very girlish sound for her age. "My sweet son. I call you this because I love you. You know this, don't you? I don't mean to be annoying."

"Of course I know it." I kissed her cheek.

"Holten had his chance," she said, her voice merciless. "We act on our own, now."