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Doroth smiles at Jemel fondly. “I did not know this. Where is Embel now?”

“As she was a Plumian, Xan sent her to his ship. Xan was with me in the garden,” Jemel says this as if it is a shameful confession, but Doroth does not say anything about that, letting Jemel speak on. “I can only hope she made it there but her mind was broken with fear.”

“I see,” Doroth says as if he will be making sure he finds this servant girl. He leans closer, peering at Jemel with his voice full of familiar, fatherly concern, but dismissive. “I kept that letter because its contents were better known only to me. You should not have read it. I knew finding out about this would upset you. She was as close to you as a mother.”

This statement makes a lump form in Jemel’s throat. Emotions he had long thought dealt with, suddenly so present.

“She raised me,” he says, carefully controlling his crackly voice. “You gave me to her.”

“I did.” Doroth’s voice is still fond. “She insisted upon it. An orphaned babe given to the Faith. It would not have been my choice for you.”

“The servant girl said she found Pershel, bleeding on the floor, killed with a blade. An ivory handled dagger. The one Xan has gone to fetch for me.”

“Ah, yes,” Doroth says, quite smoothly. “That was her own dagger. The Blade of the Fifth. I saw it many times. I suppose she must have used it in her anguish.”

So Doroth knew the truth about how Pershel died. He had the letter and it is clear he had found someone to tell him of its contents. Jemel leans closer, wondering what this could mean. “But the tale was that she took snap adder venom.”

Doroth waves a hand, “A small contrivance. I thought it less shocking for us to consider she had a kinder death. She read those words on Lyr and in her despair, she could not go on. I know it must be a great source of pain for you, and for that, I am sorry.”

“No,” Jemel snaps back.

Doroth shakes his head.

“She would not kill herself over that. She would join the fight.”

Doroth looks at Jemel with one of his usual, inscrutable expressions. He takes a honey cake, pops it in his mouth. “This is why you think someone killed her? Because you believe she wouldn’t have taken such an action? Do you really think you knew her so well?”

A statement like that from Doroth, not long ago, would make Jemel doubt himself. But not now. He leans forward, voice growing stronger. “I know it. I suspected it from the start, because she wouldn’t, I know she wouldn’t,” Jemel can hear the emotion. He hates getting emotional in front of other people. Especially in front of Doroth.

Doroth looks at him, placid as ever, as he eats the rest of his honey cake before he says, “I never told you who your mother was.”

“No.”

“But you know now, don’t you?”

Jemel nods, sourly. “Atticul told me, when he had me in his dungeons.”

“I would have preferred that was kept from you for as long as possible. It was not in any of the papers you were given. It was better you did not know. I know you hold to your faith. And your siring was such a great sin.” Doroth pauses. He looks across the hall, towards Damon, speaking with Inga at a rowdy table of Mortingales. “It was when I saw you that I knew what that fae had told me was true. And just how sacrilegious what he intended was. I’m sure you’ll agree that defiling the Immurite was taking things too far. No matter what we face.”

Jemel frowns. He watches as Doroth takes a sip of spiced ale from the cup before him. It’s a wooden cup, carved with a design of leaves and decorated with gilding. Jemel suddenly feels strangely cold in the warm hall with its fires and braziers and people. “Too far? What had gone too far?”

“This fight to destroy a demon. I was The High Word of Zai. Can you imagine it? Such a man conspiring with a fae creature, claiming to be the offspring of Batreous. He showed me writings, prophecies. the words that told him to come to me. I understood Zai was Ur-Durik. But when the cost of defeating him is so great, a man, such as I, begins to ask questions. Don’t you wish there could be another way? A child sired with the Immurite. If something so unholy was needed to defeat this demon then perhaps the true demons were the ones who insisted upon such an abomination.”

Jemel sucks in air, suddenly. He goes to rise. But Doroth grabs his wrist. His grip is surprisingly strong. “Stay where you are Jemel. Don’t you want to know why Pershel died?”

Jemel stays seated. His heart is beating hard. He looks at Doroth’s eyes. They are so familiar.

“You were born deformed, of course, which I took as a sign I was right to see you as I did. I was close with Pershel, then. She was even my lover on occasion. I took her to you and I told her all I knew. Ur-Durik would be Zai embodied in the mortal world. Something I had learned to welcome. But Pershel did not agree. She looked at you and saw her sister’s child. Pershel,” Doroth says, leaning closer to Jemel, “was sister to the Immurite. She was your blood kin.”

Jemel feels tears prickling his eyes. He blinks. “She, she knew what I was.”

“She knew. It was the reason she would not allow me to dispose of you. I should have killed Pershel then, when she came and begged me to spare you. But I suppose, even I am susceptible to the base needs of men. So I told her that we would raise you together.”

“You lied to her. You, you want to help Ur-Durik rise,” Jemel says, his voice coming out a rough scrape. He is miles away from this hall. He is in Pershel’s rooms. With her, being taught languages and the faiths of the world. Being taught to be the Scholar.

“Of course I want to help him rise. He is Zai. This is the will of Zai. As she raised you, Pershel became more and more sure we needed to prepare, that Ur-Durik would rise soon and the princes needed to be ready, especially you, and I became more and more sure he should be venerated. And then, when she read the words on Lyr's body, I did not know they were the Books of Alios, of course, just prophetic writings from Jareleezi. But she knew more from her sister, things that needed to be hidden. She knew something you do not. The real truth about what happened when the Five Fae Princes killed ur-Durik.”

“So you killed her so she would not share this knowledge.”