“No.”

It was very soft and very final, and Kellen stopped walking, turning to stare at Sasheer. Then Sasheer reached out and grabbed his shoulder, the long fingers squeezing gently. “What do you mean, no?” Kellen had to ask, had to know. “I am not a pawn in some power struggle. I will not be manipulated.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you,” Sasheer said, an edge of exasperation coloring his tone. “Rather, I am trying to help you. If you’ll let me.”

Kellen stared at him with distrust.

“You have a great potential, a powerful Gift that is maturing, and from what I have seen over the last few weeks, you are in grave danger of losing control of that Gift. I can feel your panic when you wake, can sense your confusion.”

“I want none of this!” Kellen snapped.

“Kellen-”

“No!” His anger returned, unheeded, and he turned on Sasheer, snarling at him. “Stay out of my mind!”

“I am not in your mind,” Sasheer said. “What you see in your dreams is not me.”

“No!” Raising a hand to his head, Kellen hissed the denial, not wanting to discuss his dreams; the nightmares, the visions he had believed he had successfully hidden from Sasheer. He would not talk about them-ever. “You talk of my family, so what do you know of them?”

Sasheer sighed, lifting a hand to rub his eyes in annoyance. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Just tell me if I have any family left alive in the Southland,” Kellen persisted.

“You have none,” Sasheer said, visibly restraining his temper.

“Why?” Kellen snarled, no longer feeling cold as he glared at the infuriating man.

“Because they did not survive.”

“The war?” Kellen asked, when Sasheer did not volunteer more.

“Yes! The cursed war!” Sasheer snapped. “Your entire family is dead. Uncles, aunts and cousins! Is that what you wanted to hear?”