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Albion looks far to the west, as if his gaze could see across an ocean "Do not fear hiless life, but he ful ones Do you understand?"

"I think so" In the hazy way I have come to understand so much about my family, I have a sense of how each Seedbearer is linked inextricably to the others Our breath connects us We live as one organism--which means that we die as one, as well "If one of us dies--"

Albion nods "All of us die"

"How long has Solon been gone?" I ask

"We have lived almost seventy-five years without him His punishment is permanent, his exile absolute"

"But he won’t die?"

My aunts laugh their cruel laughs

"He does not have the means," Albion says "Do you understand?"

My hands are stiff when I draw the second card froround The black crown and the toht

"Yes," Albion says "Power and death derive from breath"

I wait for him to continue

"Many times you have seen us employ the Zephyr--the name for the power of our collective breath It is our weapon and our shield It can influence the tides, the weather It is a power unmatched in this world You have it in you, too" He raises an eyebrow "You hts of Shiloh "I have"

"You will improve The Zephyr derived from Leander It intertwines our lives It is also our weakness Only one substance can kill us, but a single breath of it is death This poison is a rare strain of the plant known as artemisia It killed Leander and each of the eleven Seedbearers who have died--always voluntarily, always in the first er Seedbearer’s life"

"Is that how lances answer yes, but I can’t let et arte quantity in the Waking World," says Chora He holds up a small metal chest I’ve seen it before It is one of five orichalcuers trace the clasp, Albion walks over to her and places his hands on hers

"Simply know that it is here, Ander, and well protected Your life is never in danger as long as this chest remains with us"

"If it’s so deadly, why not destroy it?" I say "Why do we keep it?"

"We keep it to help one Seedbearer pass out of this world when a new and stronger one enters--like you We keep it because we may perhaps one day be forced to choose death over life But enough poisonous talk There is another card"

I place the last card next to the others It looks faded, as if its red pigment rubbed off in my pocket

Albion waits

"Love drains life," I whisper

My fa ht you up to be a th, which is detachment from these self-imposed vulnerabilities Yes, love has served you well But listen closely, Ander: love is child’s play To assurow out of love, and shed it like a snake loses its skin Only then can you live forever, like us"

"You , raises her frail shoulders "It is only natural But soon you will be a es to come You will understand far nize patterns and cycles that the greatest geniuses a, how their little life spans keep the on their various hamster wheels," Critias says His eyes close halfway in revulsion, so that only the whites are visible

Albion studies me "You should already sense a difference"

I can’t be so unusual--but can the rest of theotten what it’s like to feel? Are they hypocrites, or insane? I take co of Solon, the exiled uncle I’ve never heard about before tonight Did his failure look anything like mine?

"When Solon failed," I ask, "why didn’t you replace him with a new Seedbearer, the way I replaced my mother when she died? Why didn’t you kill hi him?"

"You tell me," Albion replies

I think; then I know "He is too strong"

My faht circle around ed," Chora says She looks at Starling, who steps forward holding so wrapped in foil When she pulls the foil back, stea her eyes ondips a spoon into the dark dish and says, "Open"

I close my mouth around the spoon The substance is sweet, buttery, crisp, and war takes hold of me The food is so delicious I can barely s

Suddenly, I res ofas she wiped the corners of my mouth

Blueberry cobbler The words fill ia

But II feel

"What do you think?" Starling’s eyes betray none of the coo they planted this ned love, and now they want to know if I can conquer the only memory of comfort and safety I have

"What is it?" I ask as blandly as I can

"Leftovers," Chora says slowly "We thought you ry"

"We’d like you to listen to so" Albion nods at Critias, who presses Play on an old tape recorder The quiet night bursts into music