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know more about their fears and concerns than any of us. If we were to accept this offer, how do you think it would impact them?”
    The first thing that came to mind was yesterday’s suicide. Though she hadn’t known the woman personally—she had lived in Whitesun—Lanaril feared it was only a matter of time before someone she did know was found hanging from a tree. In her counsels, she encouraged veterans to take advantage of the mental healing clinics set up for them, but many told her that wasn’t enough. They needed more than help, they said; they needed assurance. An assurance that only a representative of Fahla could give. Every time she heard that, she remembered the first time Andira had come into her study, asking for the exact same thing.
    But it wasn’t really about assurance, was it? It was about forgiveness.
    She thought of the dead silence when Andira and Rax first laid eyes on each other. He had been terrified of her, and she had needed time to control her speech. Yet by the end, they seemed to have come to a tentative understanding. Perhaps it was simply the relief of replacing the unknown with the known.
    And perhaps understanding was the beginning of forgiveness.
    â€œI think,” Lanaril said slowly, “that if the mental healers made very careful choices and set up very controlled meetings, having these Voloth here could actually help our veterans heal.”

CHAPTER 3 Hiding
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    The prisoners agreed to the terms of their asylum.
    The Council made its decision in record time, probably driven by the fact that the Voloth personnel ship left orbit two days after Rax Sestak made his plea. Commander Qualon waited only a hantick after receiving the nineteen soldiers who wanted to go back before sending a message to Ambassador Solvassen and vanishing from Alsean space. The ambassador was reluctant to share Qualon’s exact wording with the Council, but the media reported the gist as “They’re your problem now.” Speculation held that the Voloth government had lost interest in retrieving its remaining sane soldiers once it had learned that they were all hangers, and none of them would fight against Alsea again.
    It was difficult to vote for rejecting asylum when returning the prisoners wasn’t even an option.
    Lanaril heard that the Council had tried a last-ditch attempt to divert the issue elsewhere, asking Ambassador Solvassen if the Protectorate could take them—surely they had other Voloth refugees settled somewhere? But when Rax learned of the possibility, he said they would refuse to go. The empathic force that had turned them against their own people had also tied them to Alsea.
    Apparently, the Voloth commander’s last message was quite accurate. They really were Alsea’s problem now.
    As of today, Alsea was home to one hundred and fifty-three former Voloth soldiers who were asking to join their society—in addition to the two hundred and forty-four insane soldiers still being kept under sedation.
    Lanaril was watching the breaking news in her office when someone knocked at her door. She glanced at the clock and sighed; only ten ticks until her office hanticks were over. No doubt whoever it was would overstay that time by half a hantick.
    She opened the door and stared. “I thought you were in the Council chamber.”
    Andira brushed past her. “We’ve tabled the discussion for now. Tempers are too hot. And I needed a break.”
    It was unlike the cool and controlled Lancer Tal to admit that. Lanaril flipped the switch for the sign indicating that her office was now closed and shut her door.
    â€œWould you like a cup of shannel?” She headed for her dispenser.
    â€œPlease.” Andira prowled around her office, picking up art pieces and putting them down again without really looking. She was staring out the window when Lanaril arrived with two cups of shannel and a plate of pastries.
    Andira murmured her