“Bran came to the forest seeking protection from Nyphron. He was beloved by Suri. She thought of him as a nephew, it’s said. He stayed there a while and became close friends with an Artist named Dibben, who became something of a convert to his teachings. They went east together. No one knows why. But when Dibben returned, he was alone—carrying the body of Bran. Dibben and several of Bran’s followers built the monastery upon the graves of Bran and his parents. We Cenzars—their neighbors—watch over and protect them, as we believe that is what Suri would have wished.”

“Wonderful story, but why are you siding with my father who clearly would like to see you and the rest of the Artists—and the monks—treated as criminals.”

“Because we have no choice.”

Farilane gaped again, shaking her head. “What’s with this shortage of choice? The last time I heard you speak, you were explaining to my father how your infinite power makes you beyond his control. Yet here, you claim inexplicable helplessness.”

“We follow the teaching of the Cenzlyor. This is what she wanted.”

“And what exactly is this that you are referring to?”

“Farilane,” her father said, taking a step forward, his hands reaching out. His tone had lost its anger, even its authority. He spoke like a man—like a father. “Believe me when I tell you we didn’t want this. Your grandfather didn’t, your brother doesn’t, and I certainly do not. I fought against it. It tore me apart to give that horrible order. We even tried to stop it. Nordyan chased after you, but as one might expect, we failed.”

“Stop what?”

Nyrian looked devastated. This wasn’t an act. He was sincere.

“The prophecy,” she said.

Her father nodded, and his sight shifted to Kile, who remained beside her. “We didn’t believe it—not at first, not for more than a hundred years, but things kept happening.”

“By these ten events you will know my prophecy is true.” Farilane repeated Sephryn’s ominous words.

“Farilane, what would you do if a prophet demanded something awful in order to prevent an unimaginable future? You wouldn’t take him seriously. No one would. But what if he proved himself by making a list of things that one by one did come to pass?”

“What sort of unimaginable future?”

“The fall of the empire and the destruction of the entire human race.”

She nodded. “Okay, yeah, that’s bad. And what were the ten things?”