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“Five,” she whispers. “Two to pneumonia, two to exposure when we lost power. The earth shook so violently I thought the whole building would come down. And the youngest . . .” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She simply didn’t wake up one morning. We did everything we could.”

Five.

Five children died while I was across the ocean. I built this place to protect them. The failure of it settles on my shoulders with a weight that makes the collapse of the eastern piers feel trivial, especially when it comes to children. This place was built as far inland as we could get to the castle, protecting the children from the rising ocean and winds. Yet, when the tremor caused the power to fail, no one thought of moving them to the castle.

“Why wasn’t I notified?” I demand, my voice dropping to a growl.

The caretaker takes a full step backward, and her face drains of color. “My king, the communication systems,” she stammers, her words tumbling over each other. “I tried to send word to the castle sooner, but the runners were just gone. Reassigned to other parts of the island. There was no one to carry a message. I couldn’t just leave these children alone to go myself.” Her words tumble over each other in haste to explain the neglect. “The power had been inconsistent for a while, but when it failed . . . I sent word with the first runner in sight this afternoon, but no one came.”

My eyes fly to Garret, who nods once. “All hands were managing the crisis response, my king. Failing infrastructure and food supply distribution were prioritized over communication channels.”

“Prioritized,” I repeat. “Dying children were prioritized behind infrastructure.”

The caretaker flinches, and the sight of her fear makes something inside me twist because I know this woman has done everything she can with no help or resources. She isn’t the one who failed these children. The system failed them. My absence failed them. I failed them.

“I could have secured supplies from the mainland or taken them back with me had I known they were ill,” I say. “Medicine, blankets, parts to repair the generators. One message to the right people, and those children would have had what they needed and wouldn’t have been left to freeze.”

I look at the children in their beds, at the small shapes of them beneath thin blankets. At the girl who is breathing as if she has water in her lungs, and my mind goes to the five who died.

“Why weren’t they moved to the castle once you received word this afternoon?”

Garret looks down at the floor. “We have not secured transport yet, my king.”

I turn and walk toward the door because if I stay in this room any longer, these sick children will witness my temper. They have seen and lost enough.

Garret follows me out into the frosty night air, and the door closes behind us. I stand on the orphanage steps with my hands braced against the cold railing. “This can’t happen again. I don’t care what needs to be set aside. Dying children should have been a priority over everything else.”

“My king,” Garret begins. “This wasn’t intentional neglect. Our mindlinks only carry so far across the island,” he continues. “Beyond the castle district, it weakens. You know this. Human runners were reassigned during an emergency. You’ve ordered the same response drill many times over the years. It’s standard procedure when extra hands are needed. We cannot predict multiple emergencies happening across the island simultaneously. The transformers overheat during the summer and often fail during the coldest parts of winter. We’ve been patching and rewiring the same equipment for a decade, equipment that was built from leftover scraps we salvaged with no way to properly repair it. Even if you had been here—”

“Those children have been sick for some time. Before they lost power. Before the other emergencies. Before you took the caretaker’s only means to carry messages to the castle. Before I left, even. I was never made aware.”

I listen to his babbling, without hearing, longing for a world I sometimes wonder if we all imagined. A world where kingdoms stretched beyond the horizon. Where a king’s voice could reach every corner of his realm through networks of magic and technology that made distance irrelevant. A world where twelve crowns ruled twelve vast territories, and the Arcanum wove their power through every mile. Ensuring that the land thrived, the systems held, and the people, all the people, were accounted for.

That world drowned, and even I am losing hope that it will ever return to what we lost.

“This is not the world you once ruled,” Garret says quietly.

“Every child in that orphanage. All lower-quarter families. Every vulnerable household, the elderly, the sick, anyone without heating or without adequate shelter. I want them moved into the castle.”

“The castle, my king? The guest quarters haven’t been used in—”

“Then they’ll be used now. That was what they were built for, weren’t they?” I cut in. “The castle has thirty unused rooms in the east and west wings alone. Halls that haven’t seen a body in them since we first came here. The castle has its own heating system, thanks to salvaged solar panels, and its own water supply. The walls are thick enough to keep out any storm this island can throw at them.” I meet his gaze and hold it. “If the island is shrinking, the center must hold.”

Garret absorbs the order the way he absorbs all orders, with a brief nod and the immediate mental cataloging of everything required to execute it. “At least in the castle, we can keep a better eye on rations, and they’ll have heat until it warms up or until we’ve repaired what needs fixing.”

“I’ll begin preparations,” he says. “The east wing can be made habitable within two days. The west wing will take longer; there’s water damage in several of the lower rooms.”

“Dawn is too late,” I reply. “Start tonight. Wake whoever you need to. I want those children moved within the hour, even if you must carry each child on your own back.”

“I’ll see to it, my king. We’ll need to send for more supplies. You might need to call in some favors. I know we reached our supply limits from Purgatory already this month.”

“I can get supplies,” I say, turning to look at Garret. “King Zander asked for an alliance. Our kingdom is not the only one crumbling. I’ll also speak with King Xavian. I noticed his markets are larger than Purgatory, which explains why he rarely allows ships at the main docks and prefers to drop supplies to the other kingdoms when bartering.”

“He allowed you at the main ports there?”

I shake my head. “No, after we docked, I sent word to arrange a meeting and saw it for myself. Either way, we should be able to send for more supplies, even if it means joining an alliance with King Zander or King Xavian.”

“We have little to barter with.”