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ears was louder than their breathing. A presence filled her mind—Enris, alerted, not yet alarmed. Aryl sent a pulse of reassurance she most assuredly didn’t feel, then tightened her shields.
    She looked at the Grona Adepts. “Every name. By truenight.”
    Oran’s hair flailed, but she didn’t argue.
    â€œEveryone to see this place and understand what you would do here.”
    Hoyon opened his mouth, then closed it.
    â€œAnd if you succeed—anyone who wishes dreams with you.”
    That was too much. “Only Adepts dream to order!” Hoyon shouted.
    â€œThen,” Aryl told him calmly, “when you correct the records, make everyone an Adept.”
    She concentrated and pushed herself through the M’hir before they could react.

Chapter 2
    â€œ E NRIS D’SUD SARC.” Enris stretched out his long legs, put his hands behind his head, and grinned. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
    What she thought, Aryl told herself grimly, she’d keep to herself. She concentrated on sharpening her knife. There’d been almost no reaction to her news about Oran and Hoyon, and the Cloisters. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be. Sona’s Om’ray tended to consider before they spoke. Meanwhile, Deran and Menasel, along with Bern and Kran, carried water. Gijs escaped that duty to finish his new home’s roof under the baleful eye of his Chosen. Oran and Hoyon remained at the Cloisters to prepare.
    Whatever that meant.
    Seru, bent over her sewing, glanced through a restless curl of black hair. “Seru di Parth.” Her nose wrinkled. “Doesn’t make me an Adept.”
    That deep chuckle. “What I want to know is when we get our robes. There’d best be one my size.”
    Aryl put down her knife and tossed an empty mug at his head. It disappeared mid arc.
    â€œ ‘A waste of good dishes!’ ” The Tuana’s excellent imitation of Husni’s frequent complaint to those practicing their Talent made her lips quirk.
    â€œYou could have caught it,” she pointed out. To Seru, “The Cloisters answers to names it knows. Don’t ask me how. But only those with the “di” of Adepts are allowed into certain areas. Only they are free to learn through dreams.” She had no more desire than Seru to be an Adept and none to live within the Cloisters, but to learn? Her breath quickened. To be able to read and write . . . to discover the past of this place . . . “We could become so much wiser,” Aryl said earnestly. “All of us.”
    â€œNot all.” Morla entered the Meeting Hall, shook dust from her jerkin, then took a seat at the table with them. She gestured gratitude as Enris poured her a mug of water. Her still willful white hair was tamed by a tight net. That hair and those wide-set gray eyes were Sarc traits; her diminutive size and clever hands? Pure Kessa’at. She’d been an outspoken Councillor of Yena, leader of her family, before the betrayal. At Sona, she plied her first trade again, woodworker, and rarely offered her opinion on anything else. Until now.
    â€œWhy not?” Aryl asked.
    â€œThere’s a reason Adepts are selected for their Power, why they are tested. The teaching dreams are risky. Few Om’ray have the strength to endure them.”
    â€œAccording to the Adepts themselves. Convenient.” She gestured apology for her harsh tone—the elderly Om’ray didn’t deserve it. “We’ve dreamed. Seru and I. We were fine.”
    A shiver of dread. No doubt of the source. Seru had been sent dreams of Sona’s death, full of screams and pain. A warning not to approach.
    â€œThey were useful dreams,” Aryl insisted. “We’ll be careful, of course, but—”
    WE?? Enris’ sending made her wince. You mean to try this?
    Don’t you?
    Shields slammed between them. Outwardly, her Chosen appeared