Exasperated, Rachel pointed to a nearby picture of the three of them. “Look at the picture, Mom. Does the girl in it look familiar?”

“She was our daughter,” her mom sighed serenely. “You’re not her, dear.”

“I am her, Mom. What’s the problem? Do I look that different? Ask me anything.”

Rachel’s mom looked her straight in the eye, her expression becoming stern. “You are not our daughter. Our little girl has vanished forever. It’s time you confront the truth. Merrill and I have moved on. You should as well.”

Rachel suddenly recognized that her mom’s eyes were completely black. Thinking back, she seemed to recall that her dad’s were black too, and Sharmaine’s as well, although she had failed to notice at the time.

“You’re not my mom,” Rachel whispered.

The woman smiled. “That’s right. Now you’re getting it. Somebody here has been looking for you.”

Maldor stepped around the corner into the living room. Rachel had never seen him, but she knew his identity as surely as she knew that she must be dreaming.

“I’ll leave you two to talk things over,” her dream mom said, stepping out of the room.

Rachel faced Maldor, glaring into his black eyes. “This is a dream.”

“We need to talk.”

Rachel stared at him. “It feels real. I feel awake. Is that really you?”

“As close as we can manage at present. Have a seat.”

“I’ll stay standing.”

“No need for hostility. I’m here as a courtesy.”

The statement made Rachel furious. “Get out of my house! Get out of my mind! You weren’t invited! You don’t belong here!”

Maldor held up his hands soothingly. “Don’t lose your temper. I’ll leave soon. First, we must talk. Your friends are going to die, Rachel. All of them. Soon. Unless you save them. I just wanted to give you that chance.”

Concern for her friends warred against her rage at the mental intrusion. After a moment, Rachel bridled her anger enough to respond rationally. “You’re not here to help them. Or me. You’re here to mess with my mind. How do I get rid of you?”

“Don’t be so hasty,” Maldor warned. “This illusion took considerable time and effort to establish. You should hear my proposal.”

Rachel took a deep breath. What if she attacked him? What if she used Edomic to set the sofa on fire and hurl it at him?

“You can’t hurt me here,” Maldor said. “I can make this much less pleasant, if you wish.”

“Don’t read my thoughts,” Rachel snapped.

“They’re hard to miss,” Maldor apologized. “After all, this is your mind.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I imagine not. You have so little control. I could teach you to lock out incursions such as this.”

Rachel frowned. “That’s a class I might sign up for.”

“Shall we talk?” Maldor said, sitting down. “Tark or Io could get badly hurt if this takes too long. The more quickly we converse, the safer they’ll be.”

“Fine. All right.” Rachel sat down on the sofa. She had never felt so conscious in a dream before. So alert and lucid. It seemed no different from full consciousness.

“Where did Jason go?” Maldor inquired.

Rachel felt panic. She tried not to think about him.

“Windbreak Island? Interesting. That explains much. I don’t see how he’ll survive. What guidance did you receive at Mianamon?”

“Get out of here!” Rachel yelled.

Maldor snapped his fingers. The sofa folded up around her, trapping her in a cushioned embrace. She remained in a seated position, cocooned from her ankles to her mouth. She could only manage muffled protests. She tried to will the sofa to release her, but it refused to budge.

“Hmmm,” Maldor mused. “Fascinating prophecy. I suppose there must be some minuscule chance for his survival. This is very useful information, by the way. Do you think your quests could possibly work? An attack on Felrook would be suicide for all involved. If I permit you to speak, will you be civil? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

Angry and frustrated, Rachel blinked once.

The cushions unfolded from her mouth. “We’ll beat you.”

Maldor laughed. “She glimpsed one way, Rachel. The oracle glimpsed a single unlikely chain of coincidences that could stop me amid countless ways to fail. She neglected to offer many specifics. Now that I know what you are trying to do, it will be that much easier to stop you. Thank you, Rachel, for this priceless intelligence.”

Rachel squirmed. The sofa held her fast. She wanted to shout with frustration. Hot tears threatened.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Maldor urged. “I could have acquired this knowledge by a hundred different methods. Not that it matters. The oracle set you on a path that will require more than a miracle. It will require a prolonged series of miracles. Darian the Pyromancer is dead, Rachel. He has been dead for eons. Which Jason and his comrades will never learn, because they will perish at Windbreak Island. I won’t need to twitch a finger. The Maumet will see to their fate. And Galloran will undoubtedly die leading his foolhardy siege. There is no question.”

Maldor leaned forward. He spoke softly. “That prophecy is one of the nicest gifts anyone has ever given me. It brings me considerable peace of mind. I had worried that it might be dangerous. According to the oracle, somewhere in the future awaits some remote possibility of me coming to harm. I’ll be sure to defend against that implausible eventuality. Thanks to the prophetess, I now know where to focus my efforts.”

Maldor snapped his fingers, as if concerned Rachel’s attention might be straying. “Look at the situation with a practical eye. The prophecy will put all of my most capable enemies into extremely vulnerable positions years before I could have managed it on my own. I will win my war twenty years earlier than expected, all thanks to the dying words of a withered schemer.”

Rachel had no response. She wanted to weep. She wanted to scream.

“You’re concerned about your friends,” Maldor said tenderly. “I’m here to make an offer. I’ve thought about you in the months since you escaped my servants at the Last Inn. With the passage of time, I’ve grown increasingly certain that I wish to train you.”

“Never,” Rachel gasped.

Maldor smiled. “Don’t be so quick to deny me. At least hear the proposal, so you can understand who your refusal will be killing. Look at this through my eyes. Soon I will have subdued all of Lyrian. There will always be decisions to make, a vast empire to manage. Much of that will become tedium, and most of it can be handled by underlings. Once Lyrian is conquered, I can see myself regretting not having an adept like you to train. Edomic talent tends to be hereditary. So many gifted bloodlines have failed that you may represent my last opportunity to pass my knowledge forward to a worthy apprentice.”