Ashura screamed.

"Your Majesty!"

He couldn't stop. He could never stop. He couldn't wake up, and he couldn't stop screaming.

"Majesty!"

Hands grabbed him and shook him. He struck out with fists and magic, sending the intruder flying back.

Another voice yelled out garbled words, unintelligible words. More voices, more faces, came into the nightmare. Too many, too much. Bedlam surrounded him. Ashura threw back his head and howled out all his anguish, all his pain and misery and sorrow, until his lungs felt as though they would burst. The world filled with rumbling tremors.

"Cousin!" a new voice joined the din. One that made him hesitate for a bare instant, before more shouts battered him with pandemonium. The shaking intensified; intricate spider webs of fine cracks crazed the glass windowpanes.

"Ashura!" That same voice, but now it was just more clamor.

Chunks of masonry crashed down. Flaming spell-runes escaped him, burning the air before his scorched eyes. He shoved them away violently. Something exploded; shrieks stabbed his eardrums. He clutched his ears and lashed out with more spell-runes. The walls burst into a conflagration of intense blue flames.

Someone screeched hysterically, "Get the wizards! The wizards!"

More people flooded into the chaos, their shouts and frantic motion a cacophony that hurt him almost physically. He summoned a whirlpool of magic and unleashed it to drive them away. The windows blew out. Wood splintered and swan's down tore through the air as furniture burst apart.

Then everything went white and he knew no more.

When he drifted back to the world, he felt numb. Lethargic and enervated, with heavy limbs and body. It was too much trouble to even try to move.

Harp music played gently in the background. A cool, wet cloth glided over his forehead. He lay still, eyes closed, breathing deeply. The cloth was pulled away. Still he didn't move. He heard someone wring the cloth in water, then felt it reapplied, this time to his left cheek.

Hushed voices across the room, ebbing and flowing with the harp. A man said, "This is my fault. I shouldn't have approached him so soon. I should have waited until the nightmares passed." He sounded familiar. "I should have waited until after the anniversary—"

A woman said, "No one could have known this would happen. I know him better than anyone, and even I never suspected it was affecting him this deeply." Her voice was so sad, and so dear. But he couldn't place it.

"What can we do?"

"We can only wait until he wakes. Then we shall decide if anything need be done." The music stopped briefly, then resumed. "The court wizards are prepared?"

"Yes." The man sounded grief stricken.

"Then go get some rest," the woman said. "I will send for you if anything changes." A door opened, closed, and then there was only the liquid music and the soothing touch on his skin.

He floated for a time, content to allow the harp's sweet, light melody to carry him where it would.

But no contentment, no peace of heart, survived long in him. Already the pleasant tranquility pulled away from him. Letting it go with regret, he opened his eyes.

A maidservant softly dabbed his face with the cloth. He stared at her blankly.

"Your Majesty?" she queried, keeping her voice so low he could barely hear her. He felt he should know her, but her name eluded him.

The harp music ceased. Footsteps approached his bed. The maidservant moved away; another woman took her place by his bedside, picking up the cloth and bathing his skin. A beautiful, well-loved face peered into his own.

"Ashura? Ashura, love, are you well?" Her voice was very, very gentle. "Do you know me?"

He whispered, "Kendappa."

A brilliant smile lit her face, and her eyes filled with shining moisture. "Ashura. Oh, thank all the gods."

"I feel strange." His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt so very much.

"It's all right, dearling. It's normal. Don't worry." A single tear trickled down her cheek.

He wanted to reach up, touch her face, but couldn't make his limbs obey. "I can't move." Oddly, this didn't trouble him as much as it should. "Kendappa, what's wrong with me?"

"You've been ill, love."

"Ill?" Although his voice was raspy, he didn't remember being ill. His thoughts were sluggish, his emotions blunted. A blank, white wall barricaded him from himself.

"Yes, love. Very ill."

"There's something there," he murmured, focusing inward. The white wall contained him. "Something inside, something that's not me."

"Ashura, it will be fine. Everything will be fine." She sounded as though she were trying to convince herself.

He pushed on the wall. Crinkles appeared, then cracks, marring the perfect white surface.

"Ashura," Kendappa implored. Her voice was strained. She dropped the cloth and grasped his upper arm, her fingers digging into his flesh through his sleeping robe. "Ashura, don't. Please don't."

It didn't take much. Just another push against the biggest crack, and the wall crumbled to dust.

With the wall gone, his thoughts were his own again. The numbness vanished as though it had never been. He lifted his hand, stared at his palm. "The wizards—they did this?"

Kendappa said nothing, but the grip on his arm tightened.

He now recognized the barrier his court wizards had put on him. A healing block meant to quiet patients and keep them calm. The wizards had used a much stronger version to hold him, to subdue his mind and body, and make him passive and pliable. Why?

With that question, memories flooded into him. He sat up abruptly, eyes wide, as mental turmoil whirled violently. Murder and alien power and a river of blood. Seresu wiped out of existence. Raging magic, out of control. Screams, his own and those of others. Explosions, fire, destruction...

"No," he whispered. "Oh, no." He covered his face with his hands and shook.

"Ashura, don't think of it," Kendappa begged. "Don't."

"Help me, Kendappa," he whimpered.

"I am, love, I am." She enfolded him in her arms and stroked his hair. "I'm here. It's all right."

He held her tightly, marveling at her fearlessness. Having seen what she must have seen, knowing what she had to know, she still stayed with him. She was safe with him. She would always be safe with him. He could never hurt her, never hurt Kendappa.

Except, he might. Someday in a dark future, maybe fifteen or twenty years from now, he might tear her to pieces without even recognizing her—and enjoy it.

He pushed her back, holding her at arm's length.

"So that is what it's like to go mad in the real world," he whispered. Sudden fear raked through him. "Kendappa, did I hurt anyone? Did I ki—" He faltered, horrors flashing before his eyes. He swallowed hard and forced himself to ask the dread question, "Did I kill anyone?"

"Everyone's fine," she said. She touched his hair again, shifting aside a stray lock that had fallen into his face. "You vented your rage on the furniture. We had to move you to these rooms. Yours were destroyed. There were some injuries, but nothing serious. Just a lot of panic." She grasped his shoulders and stared him squarely in the eyes. "You did not kill anyone."

He searched her face, looking for the lie, the deception meant to becalm him, but all he found in her was complete honesty. He looked away. "You should have just locked me alone in my chambers and let me rave," he muttered with self loathing.

"We couldn't do that. You were in so much pain." She sighed. "I won't lie to you. You terrified everyone. You were so far out of control."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry." He could hear the fear in his voice, and in hers.

"If these dreams of yours can trigger such outbursts... Ashura, if this should happen again, or worse... Next time we might not be so fortunate. We might have to..." She trailed off, not finishing the thought.

But he knew. He remembered how she had asked Vainamoinen if the court wizards were prepared. Prepared to deal, finally and irrevocably, with their mad mage king. Perversely, that thought gave him comfort, that his nobles and wizards were prepared and willing to perform their ultimate duty. It was a duty that hadn't been asked of a royal court in over two thousand years, and even then only in legend.

And yet, he knew they would be too late, they wouldn't realize the truth until he was too strong for them, until he was too far gone to care or hold back. They would fail against him.

"It won't happen again," he said, trying to reassure her. This was her worst nightmare, as murdering the country was his. "I think... I think I've finally seen the worst of the dreams."

"How can you be sure?" she whispered.

"There's nothing left, nothing left to destroy."

"What do you mean, there's nothing left? Ashura, it was just your bedchamber. It'll be fixed and refurnished in no time."

There was nothing left—for him or his country. No hope for Seresu. He shuddered.

"It doesn't matter. It won't happen again," he repeated, pulling her into another fierce hug. He buried his face in her shoulder. There was no hope, unless he found a way to change destiny. "I swear, Kendappa, I won't let it happen again."

He looked up when he heard someone discreetly open the door. Lord Vainamoinen warily poked his head in.

Ashura gazed at him with deliberate, calm sanity. "Lord Vainamoinen," he greeted, forcing his abused voice to sound as normal as he could.

"The maid brought me the news that you had awakened, Your Majesty," Vainamoinen said, cautiously. "Is everything all right?"

Kendappa pulled back from the hug and turned toward the door. She smiled happily. "Everything is perfect, my lord."

Vainamoinen slumped with such utter, visible relief that Ashura wanted to laugh. He didn't, but he did smile, an honest smile for once.

This apparently relieved Vainamoinen even more. "Welcome back, Your Majesty." He nodded to them both. "I'll see you later." The door closed.

Kendappa said, "You know he's going to want to talk about this."

Ashura nodded.

"What will you tell him?" she asked.

Ashura rubbed the blankets between his fingers, careful to avoid discharging any magical energy. Everyone was upset enough already. He didn't need to add to it. "The same thing I told you. There's nothing more I can say."

She stood. "I hope you're right, and the worst is past. Are you truly certain?"

"I think so." What could possibly be worse than the outcome he'd foreseen? "I'll still have nightmares, Kendappa. That won't change. They're a part of me. They have been my whole life." He owed her some warning, even if couldn't explain why. Not if he wanted any hope of changing the future.

"I know. I wish they weren't." She walked to her harp and sat down, pulling the instrument into position. "Does the king have any requests?" she asked playfully.

Ashura's lips twitched into another honest smile as he remembered the time her playing had lulled him to sleep. He had been blessed with a dreamless night. He wouldn't sleep now, but Kendappa's harp always soothed his nerves. They especially needed a balm at this time. "Anything is fine."

As his cousin's skilled fingers moved over the strings and soft music flowed into the room, Ashura closed his eyes and relaxed against the pillows.

Strange, he mused, that a person who so often despised kindness as weakness in others should always be so kind to him. Especially when he didn't deserve any kindness at all.

Then again, she had been ready to order him put down like a rabid dog. Perhaps he was mistaking guilt for kindness. Perhaps she wasn't so kind to him, after all.