Master commander Auberon wears black.

It's his choice of color. Always was. Maybe because it fits his personality. Maybe because he eats like a pig, and it makes the stains less visible. Or maybe just to make him look scarier.

Not as if he'd need it. He already looks like a malicious half-god, out of some outdated fairy tale, a head taller than anyone else, with almost transparent, piercing grey eyes, and a disapproving frown on his face.

"Madame Seer, welcome to the Gate!" He greets me, sounding anything but welcoming.

It requires a serious amount of self-discipline to offer him my hand. The right one. The one he broke with such fascinating ease.

"Thank you, master commander," I answer.

"Did you have an undisturbed journey?" he asks politely.

"We wouldn't be here otherwise." I shrug.

He seems taken aback by my answer. He's probably more used to a heartfelt yes, sir.

"True," he says, after a slight pause. "And that's why we don't have time for pleasantries. Do you have any questions?"

Of course, I have. First and foremost the one which I simply must know, but which happens to be also the one I can't ask him.

Does he remember me?

It would take only a small mental glance to check it. To see how he feels about meeting me. And no one would ever know that I did it.

But I can't. It goes against the rules of my profession. In fact, it's the one and only rule of it. The gift can't be used for personal aims. Absolutely never. And it binds me, even if I'm the last one of my kind.

So I take a more ordinary approach. I look him deep in the eyes. And I find the answer there, in the form of a well veiled, but still evident apprehension. It's not any less readable than the one I could get directly out of his mind.

"I don't," I tell him. "Do you?"

He sighs. He nods. Then he shakes his head.

"Not at the moment. It's an honor to have you here, serving under me."

"That would be a rare honor indeed." I spread my hands. "Because I don't have a military rank. I have a political one. I'm a member of the Council. So I can't serve under you. By your side, I can."

"It won't work." He furrows his brow. It makes me feel as if the temperature dropped by several degrees in the room. The uniformed men in his company are exchanging worried glances. They probably know him better than me.

"It has to," I insist.

"I don't see how."

"Do you have a choice?" I ask him.

"It's not the right time for insubordination," he declares. Without raising his voice, but sounding absolutely imperative. I feel an overwhelming urge to comply. Well, not me, my subconscious maybe. He has the aura of a natural born leader. And what can a poor girl do in a situation like this? To tell her subconscious to shut the fuck up, that's what.

"It was just a simple question." I shrug. "If I wanted to be insubordinate, I'd tell you something like aw, you're so cute, thinking you have a choice. Because you don't, as far as I know. Neither have I."

He takes a deep breath. Some of his men are glaring at me as if I just pissed on an altar. Some of them seem to consider running and taking cover.

For a moment Master Auberon looks like he's going to explode. Then he just breathes out, and tells the soldiers that they are dismissed.

They flee as if devils were chasing them.

"If you think you can smart-mouth me, you're wrong," he grunts, after they close the door behind their back.

"Fair enough," I answer. "But if you think you can intimidate me, you're not any less wrong."

"Alright," he sighs after a long pause. "Never wanted to try, in the first place. We need you. More than anyone. Still..."

"Still?" I ask.

"Still I'm not totally convinced of your skills."

It's my turn to be taken aback.

"Alright." I shrug, after staring at his unreadable face for a few moments. "I'll look more convincing when you see me in action, I guess."

"I mean," he goes on with a little hesitation in his voice, "I can't forget that incident. You insisted that it happened on purpose."

"Wow, you call it an incident?" I snort. "Now that your soldiers are not around, can I call you cute?"

"Okay, what do you call it?" he asks, sounding like a volcano before an eruption.

"Brutality?" I offer him.

"I didn't do it on purpose."

"Oh dear," I sigh. "We're at it again, aren't we? Can't we just get over it, please? We have a humanity to save, sir."

"My version—"

"I know your version fucking well." I lose my patience. "It's the version which prevailed, isn't that enough for you? But the truth was, and always will be, that you broke my arm, because you wanted information, and I denied to give it to you. It wasn't an accident. It was your way of coercing me into cooperation. But I got some good news for you, sir. This time you don't need to cause me extremely painful physical injuries to make me more compliant. I'm ready to do whatever is needed. It's a nice change, isn't it?"

He shakes his head.

"What?" I ask. "Do you insist on roughing me up a little, just as a reminder?"

"My point is," he says, clearing his throat, sounding as if it was an attempt to clear his head as well, "you failed to decipher my motives correctly. So I don't trust you with the Wasps either."

I literally laugh in his face.

"Did you spend all these years sulking about it, but never cared to ask any other Empath? You really think yourself too clever, don't you? I wasn't using my skills on you then. I can't use them outside of a commission."

His face turns a shade darker.

"Are you saying that you were just guessing? And still, you insisted on commencing a formal process against me?"

"A process, which was covered up by your superiors." I smile derisively. "And, by the way, I can follow people's intentions very well without having it written over their heads."

"You know what?" he snarls, grabbing my arm. "I don't have any superiors now."

"Well, maybe you should. Your god complex only got worse, right? Besides, careful." I shrug, refusing to move away from him, or trying to free myself. "Another so-called accident might happen."

He lets me go in an instant. But his expression doesn't soften a bit.

"The gods have abandoned us," he says. "Everyone knows that. And they left their job to me."

"Yes, that's the definition of a god complex—" I try to explain the obvious to him.

"And to you," he adds, interrupting me. Then he flashes a wry little smile. "Now, how does it feel?"