Tula is still laughing when she lets us in. She looks the same and so different all at once. Wrinkles that I had never noticed before I left seemed to have made themselves at home in her face. Her hands are more robust, slower to hold mine in a grip, a hair shy of the tight clasp I remember.

Bash makes a face, rubbing his sore shoulder thanks to his run-in with the hideout. “You couldn’t just come out to greet us?”

“I've taught you how to detect building shields; this should have been a piece of cake for you.” Her laughter aside, she tweaks my ear hard. Then she does the same to Bash, whose yelp is perhaps only a decibel lower than mine.

 “As soon as I let you two out of sight, you go lax. Well, that's not going to continue. First thing tomorrow, I want you both up with the sun and sparring for at least an hour!" She fixes us both with a steely gaze, and we mumble out yes, ma'am before she nods and hugs me to her.

"Youngling. You've made some new friends." There's an order behind it, and I obey.

"Tula, this is Caspian Brooks and Toren Finch. Toren is..." I shift against her, and her eyes narrow at him.

"I see. I'll show you all to your rooms, and then we'll have a meal once you've had a chance to wash up." She starts to turn, arm around my waist. Toren's voice stops her.

"Ma'am, this is an engineering marvel. You've managed to shield an entire location and create a mirage while doing so-" The same light in his eyes when he was collecting his leaves reappears now.

"Later, Mr. Finch." She smiles when he sags back. "Once you have a chance to freshen up, we can discuss the technology behind the base. For now, I'll show you where you will stay."

Our safehouse is standard; the first level is an open concept, an industrial setting with hardwood floors that are easy to clean and carved or leather furniture. A long, low table with a braided rug beneath it serves as the dining area while a row of glass-encased light bulbs hangs from a pipe over the kitchen island.

 A sliding barn door reveals the kitchen's walk-in pantry. Tula's herbs hang in the window above the farm sink. A closet near the front solely for wood goes in the central room fireplace if the backup generators fail. The fireplace sits against one wall as the room's focal point; I still don't know where the smoke goes.

 A chalkboard surface is, in fact, the fridge door, and once she gives us water to sip ("You all are looking a bit dried out," she informs us), she brings us down the carpeted hallway, where two bedrooms on either side of us are. She stoops, lifting a portion and pulling up a door handle. It opens to a staircase that goes down until we reach a level floor.

"It's so much bigger on the inside…" Toren mumbles, looking around like it'll all disappear at any moment. "And you have how many of these? Six? Why so many?"

"Maybe Tula's never told me the total.” I shrug. "Sometimes, when the spring flooding along the rivers is terrible, we have to move to a different location for a while. Or once, when I was younger, a clan gang tried to take over River Bend, and we had to come to our shelter until officers finally intervened."

Toren tries to ask another question but stops so Tula can explain the living situation. "There are rooms all along this corridor, enough for each of you. Youngling, yours is still at the end of the corridor, and you've got the first one here, boy.” She stops and points out each space. “There's a communal shower for you young men. I've already got soap and towels put out. Supper will be on the table in two hours. Little bird? You come to see me after your shower." Commands given, she nods at us all and makes her way back upstairs. The trap door closes behind her.

My room has simple, yellow walls and a single bed against one of them. A curved bedside table is atop a black nightstand. A woven rug like the one upstairs is underfoot, this in cream with burgundy cutting through. Along the opposite wall is a lightweight wooden dresser that is easy to move in clothes I can train in. I scrub off a layer or two in the shower, and Tula is already cooking in the kitchen when I get up.

I put the files and book on the island and take a seat.

"So that was your boy, eh?" She says to the chopping board.

"That was him." I consider a banana or apple in the fruit bowl and opt instead for a slice of fresh bread cooling on a towel.

"Mm. And that's the information you all found?" She nods at the files and books. Let's the diced onion sizzle in a hot pan.

“That’s all of it. What we read through, though, was pretty unbelievable; we were hoping you might know something about it.” The bread is still warm. The butter melts over its pillowy surface and drips on the golden crust.

"It's too much to repeat myself four times over. We'll talk after our meal, like I said." She decides, reaching out to chop a handful of small serranos. She nods at another cutting board, and I swallow the last of my snacks before taking my place at her side. We work in comfortable silence for a while before the others join us. Toren sits at the table and lays down a towel he must have brought from the showers before laying out the leaves and greenery he's collected. Bash and Casper are inhaling bread slices.

"At the risk of sounding repetitive, this place is amazing. However, did you come by it?" Toren asks, busily cataloging leaves. Tula watches him for a moment.

"I am a firm believer in expecting the unexpected.” She tells him.

"A sound practice." He comments, considering two leaves.

"For example, my granddaughter found her Bond Mate. Something I've been attempting to prepare us all for for several years." She says wryly. I think he's blushing, but his head bows over those same leaves. Casper nudges him, prompting Toren to offer to help us cook. Tula accepts and quickly shoos me out.

"This ought to be good. "Bash mutters, just as familiar with Tula's interrogation tactics as I am.

To my surprise, dinner is on the table within the hour, and they’re chatting like old friends. Their camaraderie lasts throughout the meal as they discuss the technology used to create a proper and energy-efficient shield capable of protecting a compound. I think she likes him, but knowing Tula, she might be figuring out where to hide his body.

Afterward, she has Toren brew a pot of tea, and Casper does the dishes (not at all caring that she is forcing the future Chancellor to complete chores) while she settles in with the files and her reading glasses.

When the tea is made, Toren brings me a mug as well. Bash won’t let me have so much as a sip unless he tastes it first, while Casper tries to smile his way into the cookie jar on the counter.

“Caspian.” Tula gives him a look over her green rims. “You keep your fancy district paws out of that jar. Mind your manners, Sebastian." She scolds before resuming, looking over through the manilla envelopes.

Casper's mouth drops.

"You mean to tell me your name isn’t Bash?" He demands. Bash scowls right back.

"What'd you think my name was?"

“Bashtholomew.” He shrugs, trying to hurry his chair toward the counter. Tula sticks her foot out, catching hold of one of the chair legs and tipping it back without a glance. He crashes to the ground, chair and all, leaving Bash and me howling with laughter.

“I swear, my first act as Chancellor will be to pass a law forbidding grandmothers from dictating your cookie intake!” She tilts her head at him, and he picks his chair up quickly.

"Err, if that's alright with you, Ms. Rueben, um, Madame."

She stares him down and returns to her reading, scanning and flipping through pages.

"You never can do anything the simple way, can you, youngling?" She asks after another long minute, sighing heavily. The glasses are pushed up to rub her nose's bridge before spreading four documents across the table.

"To explain what you've found, we must start at the beginning. And starting at the beginning means you must tell me everything you already know about the rejoining and the Rift War." Bash and I shrug, but she isn't looking at us.

Her gaze is on Casper, unmoving.

"I only know bits and pieces I've heard throughout the years," Toren says, sipping from his mug. "The rejoining is supposed to be some great apocalyptic event. The Clans and The Districts are coming back together instead of us being kept separate. It's an old wives' tale.”

"That's what's generally known, yes." Tula comments, stirring her beverage.  “But we know better, don't we, Caspian?" His head jerks up, and there's a combination of horror and anger in his gaze, eyes blazing. No, not only his eyes. Hands too, the chair beneath him is catching fire-

"Casper- Casper, you're on fire! Hurry, help- Something happened to the chair. Get some water!" Toren tries to pat him down but gets shoved away as Tula calmly gets up, retrieving the extinguisher under the island and putting out the fire. 

Toren is as wide-eyed as Bash and me, the three of us staring at the smoking chair where Casper has remained sitting. His clothes are still ablaze with little blue flames that stop as quickly as they begin.

"Casper, what- I don't understand." Toren stands over his friend; fists clenched while Casper's head hangs. "The Founding Families aren't allowed to have gifts. This isn’t- you can’t be, “ He stammers, recoiling when Casper shoots up from his chair, kicking it back and the flames consuming his hair in the white-hot heat.

"Get ahold of yourself, Toren. I'm one of the freaks, too, okay?! I'm like the other backward hicks, but please try and keep it together. Because I'm sure you're having a terrible time trying to wrap your head around this; it must be so hard for you!" He snaps at the still-stuttering boy. Tula moves to the counter, picking up the yellow jar. While the rest of us can only gape, she unscrews the lid and offers it to him. "I made three kinds earlier." She says while his chest heaves. "Now. You put those flames out."

She waits until he does as told and shakes the jar. “Go on. It looks as though you could use a cookie or two right about now.”

He grabs a handful.

 ****"I wasn't lying. Not really." Casper begins his story.

Toren still looks shell-shocked. Casper tried to apologize after he got a cookie in him. But Toren has not said a word since we saw Casper use his gift.

"Spoken like a true politician," Bash mutters. Tula kicks him and nods at Casper to continue.

“I’d only just started learning about the rejoining from my father. Not a lot since I'm not sworn into office." He adds hastily, "And Gillian might still be Chancellor too; it just- it depends who has the better handle on themselves." 

"So, your sister has a gift as well?" Tula asks kindly. He nods. “That makes sense, she’s your twin.”

“Yeah, exactly. And my father wouldn’t confirm it, but we’d begun to wonder if all the Founding families do.”

“Yet all this time, you said nothing.” Toren murmurs.

Cas casts a guilty glance at his friend. “I had no proof, Finch-“

“While I was losing my mind with worry, you sat back and watched.” He glares. Did I amuse you?”

“It wasn’t like that”-

Tula breaks in with a rap of her knuckles on the table. “There’ll be time for that later. Tell us what you know, Caspian.”

“Right.” He sighs, setting his remaining cookie down. "Five hundred years ago, we were all one people. Right?" He looks up at us, continuing when we nod along. “Back then, the people who are now Clan leaders all had a seat on the central council. They made decisions together. It worked pretty well."

"Until it didn't," Toren mutters. Casper looks relieved at his input, however small.

"Until it didn't." He agrees. "They separated the people because violence was escalating. Those with stronger gifts wanted more power; those with weaker gifts wanted to have stronger ones.”

"Enter the so-called saviors." Bash interrupts bitterly. He's almost as upset as Toren.

 Casper rolls a small fireball between his hands nervously.

“From the records passed down, we know that several children began to display multiple anomalies simultaneously. Each had two, three gifts apiece.”

"A person with multiple gifts… that could do some damage." Tula agrees, sipping her tea.

“What’s this got to do with Roma? And what does she want with Zara?” Bash demands, paging through the file Tula has set aside.

"I’m getting to that.” Casper scowls. “To our knowledge, your gifts are anomalies in your genetic makeup. My genetic code displays a gene marker present in combustion reactions; I’m guessing Zara’s would show the same.”

"Caspian, how does your society function now?" Tula asks. "You said your leaders aren't allowed to have gifts, but the people are."

He rubs his eyes wearily. "All the genetic testing they do, the work on the pendants and compatibility rates, is all a farce. They test the genetic code to see who will present stronger gifts than others and make certain to put them "where they're most useful." An empath will end up counseling. A telepath will work as a lawyer, and so on."

“So our ancestors, they were all criminals?” Toren finally speaks, words low and arms folded.

“They- yes.” Casper’s distress is getting the better of him, little tendrils of blue heat flickering on his shoulders. “ My ancestors didn't do this for power, at least not initially. They wanted to make things better for everyone. The founding families joined together, a team of five and their children. The plan was to create a peaceful utopia for all. But as time went on… things became skewed. Anyone who disagreed or fought back was quickly overrun. Eventually, no one could defeat the five. The combination of their anomalies was the cause of most of the deaths during the Great Rift War.”

“And so the people became divided.” I finish for him. “They were trying to fight back, but they couldn’t.”

Casper nibbles a white chocolate cranberry cookie. “No, they couldn’t. In the end, The Districts were formed, and The Clans were everyone who refused to live under the tyrants they’d become. But the output of so much power, the after-effects of so much violence, drove the five insane.  They messed up something in their DNA. So when their children had children, each only had a single gift. Some had none at all. And to deal with future issues with an uprising, they made new rules. Rules for controlling emotions, who you can marry, and how to find them. Then they made rules for themselves to deal with the insanity: As far as anyone knows, the Founding Families have no gifts. And there always has to be a Chancellor and a counselor. One must rule, and one helps keep them steady, hide away the darker emotions, and keep control over themselves. Just in case." He looks over at his best friend, eyes pleading for understanding. 

"We aren't allowed to say anything, Finch. It's like the first rule in my family. But even my other sisters don't know any of this. It's only the two who will be Chancellor and counselor."