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And that those demons would come again. One of them survived and rises in the forest. It had been that same demon who had appeared to Sarelik Darek. The demon had given him the power to revolt and drive out the Hevelikar. That demon he had called Zai.

The God the empire worshiped was a demon, intent on bringing mortal men back under the yoke of the Bellator.

But there was hope. The Five Fae Princes had also returned. The bastard sons of Prince Rafus with their Hevelikar blood. Each one sired with direction from one of the immortal fae, charged to prevent the end of the world in the claws of this reborn demon.

And Jemel, one of them. Jemel’s own father was Prince Rafus.

Jemel had long heard whispers before that his father was high-born. Although such things were whispered about every child of Zai. Popular rumour, likely true, was that the children of Zai were all born when Brides of Zai lay with high born men, in secret rituals. But he had never asked who had truly sired him.

He had always trusted Doroth, but he did not want to believe these words. Not Zai. Zai who had always been Jemel’s greatest comfort. And now, he was being charged to destroy him.

Doroth had taken Jemel to the passageways under the Rose Palace. It had been on a day when Gelen the Green had purged Jemel and his back was still stinging from it as he walked behind Doroth through the dusty tunnels.

Doroth had shown Jemel many wonders. Things built there by the fae, long before the Hevelikar Rose Temple, when this place had been the Summer Palace of the Jura-il. The hidden library, the secret garden, things that made it hard to believe that the fae and their magics were mere stories. He showed him some of the writings of Batreous, the ones that had guided the hand of this magical fae. The prophecies detailing the births of Damon Darekul, Lukas Darekul, Tobi Darekul and Kerik Darekul.

For a moment, Jemel had thought it strange that he was not on the list, as Doroth had claimed he was one of the five. But when he had asked Doroth, Doroth had simply replied that Perl, the fae, still had that paper with him, as he had recently left for Ismagaar, where he could gather more magical power.

“So who was my mother?”

“As you suspected. A Bride of Zai.” Doroth had moved on quickly to show Jemel the further writings that Perl had uncovered in the library. Various commentary on the Books of Alios. A pile of papers, stacked as high as Jemel’s chin.

He has often wondered since if Doroth had only told him the truth of the matter, when he did, because he needed Jemel to work on these translations with Perl gone to Ismagaar.

It had been only a moon later when Gelen had demanded Jemel purge his sins once more. And Jemel, still unsure if what Doroth had told him could be real and if it was, who he would be if he were fated to kill his own God, had found himself confessing a sin he never thought he could speak aloud..

Before that, Jemel had been far more cautious. But after what Doroth told him, he thought, what did it matter who knew, even if Gelen knew.

He had knelt on the low padded stool and told Gelen he had desires for men. He desired sins of the body, even that he touched himself to thoughts of such.

Gelen had received this news with frank serenity. Telling Jemel that he had long suspected it, that he had chosen Jemel for this ritual because of it. It was common enough among the acolytes of Zai. He must simply resist these desires.

It was years later that Jemel had come to understand that the reason he had confessed this sin to Gelen was because he needed to be purged of sins that were far greater. The sin of knowing his God to be a demon.

Jemel learned that the best way to hide a sin, is behind another sin.

In the fine chambers of the High Word of Zai, kneeling on a rug marked with the twelve pointed star, Jemel says, “It is my old sin. And it is worse than ever. I desire the Plumian. I dream of him. I have done so every night since I met him. The dreams are carnal. I wake roused.”

As Jemel speaks, Gelen rises from his seat behind the desk and walks over to stand behind him. Jemel still has his gaze on the floor, but he hears the soft shuffle of Gelen moving, only realising how close he has come when he feels one of Gelen’s hands, stroking his hair. “Worry not,” Gelen says softly, “I can help?”

And he knows he wants this. The incense might have loosened his tongue, as it always does, but he wants to be purged of sin. There is nothing he wants more.

He must be rid of his desire for Xan. It will only distract him from what he must do. He must find out what happened to Pershel before Ur-Durik rises. Or he never will.

“You are sin,” Gelen says, familiar words, cool and quiet. “You know this. A child of Zai must be cleansed and I have been too lax with you.”

“Yes, Sire.” Jemel speaks his words to the gold rug. “You are correct. I have desires that must be taken from me by Zai.”

He hears the sound, familiar now, that makes his belly seize. Gelen is already holding the strap and moving into position behind Jemel.

Jemel has seen the strap before many times. It is as wide as three of Jemel’s fingers, wrought of heavy leather, a wooden handle at one end.

Gelen unfastens Jemel’s robes at the back and lets them drop. Jemel shivers.

The first time Gelen beat Jemel with this strap the pain had shocked him. Now he can bear it. He knows the rhythm of it. Even welcomes the clarity it brings, the way it stops his thoughts of anything but the building pain, the heat, the warmth, the sound of the smacking and his own gasps. He feels like he leaves his body sometimes and watches himself, shuddering under the strap, his back growing redder and redder until the skin breaks at points and thin red blood sprays into the air.

When it is done, Gelen drops the strap. It clatters; the wooden handle against the stone floor.

“So, let us see how this filthy prick of yours behaves for me,” Gelen says, walking around in front of Jemel.