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He had given his word. And he was getting damn tired of breaking oaths that he’d made.

“Your grace, may I ask you to come with me? I wish to show you a place here in the Sanctuary.”

He followed Amalya out of the Primale Temple, and the two of them were silent as they walked down the hill toward a thicket of four-story white structures with columns.

“These are the Chosen’s living quarters,” she murmured, “but you and I are not bound for them.”

Good thing, he thought, glancing over.

As he passed by, he noted that none of the windows was glassed in, and he imagined there was no reason for the bother. There were no bugs or animals . . .no rain, either, he guessed. And what the lack of panes meant, of course, was that there were no barriers between him and the Chosen who stared back at him from their quarters.

There was one female in every window of every room in each of the buildings.

Oh, Jesus.

“Here we are.” The Directrix stopped in front of a one-story structure and unlocked a pair of double doors. As she opened them wide, his heart fell.

Cribs. Rows and rows of empty white cribs.

As he tried to keep breathing, the Directrix’s voice grew wistful. “This used to be such a place of joy, filled with life, teeming with the future. If you would only take another— Are you unwell, your grace?”

Phury backed away. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t . . . breathe.

“Your grace?” She reached out.

He jerked away from her. “I’m fine.”

Breathe, damn it. Breathe.

This was what you agreed to. Man up.

In his mind, the wizard served up example after example of him letting people down, starting in the present with Z and Wrath and that shit about the lessers, then going all the way back into the past to his failures with his parents.

He was deficient everywhere in his life, trapped everywhere, too.

At least Cormia could be free of this. Free of him.

The Directrix’s voice grew tight with alarm. “Your grace, perhaps you might have a lie-down—”

“I’ll take another.”

“You’ll—”

“I’ll take another First Mate.”

The Directrix seemed stunned, but then bowed deeply. “Your grace, thank you . . . thank you. . . .Verily you are the strength of the race and leader to us all. . . .”

He let her go on and on singing empty praises while his head spun and he felt like a load of dry ice had been dumped in his gut.

The Directrix clasped her medallion, joy suffusing her serene face. “Your grace, what do you favor in a mate? I have a couple in mind.”

He pegged the Amalya with hard eyes. “They have to want this. No coercion. No binds. They have to want it. Cormia didn’t, and that wasn’t fair to her. I volunteered for this, she didn’t have a choice.”

The Directrix put her hand on his arm. “I understand, and moreover, I agree. Cormia was never suited for her role, had in fact been anointed as First Mate specifically for that cause by the previous Directrix. I shall never be so cruel.”

“And Cormia will be okay. I mean, she’s not kicked out of here, correct?”

“She shall be welcomed back herein. She is a fine female. Just not . . . as well suited to this life as some of us are.”

In the quiet heartbeats that followed, he had an image of her undressing him for the shower, her guileless, innocent green eyes looking up at him as she fumbled with his belt and his leathers.

She only wanted to do what was right. Back when this whole mess had gotten started, even though she’d been terri fied, she would have done the right thing by her tradition and taken him in her. Which made her stronger than him, didn’t it. She wasn’t running. He was the one with the track shoes on.

“You tell the others I was not worthy of her.” As the Directrix’s mouth fell open, he pointed his finger at her. “That’s a goddamned order. You tell them . . . she is too good for me. I want her elevated to a special rank. . . . I want her fucking enshrined, do you understand me? You do right by her or I’ll bust this place into ruins.”

While the Directrix’s mind clearly scrambled, he helped her sort shit out by reminding her, “This is my world here. I call the shots, do I not. I’m the