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“I know not,” the priest says as if only now realising the impossibility of his quest. “Perhaps she left a clue,” he finishes, although he does not sound hopeful.

“Then we should look around.” Xan moves toward the dark foliage. Now he is further from Jemel’s lamp he can see that some of the plants glow softly. He is unsure how it would be possible to find a dagger in a place such as this. “So you truly believe this built by the fae?”

“It is what Pershel told me,” Jemel says from where he is hunting, waving the lamp around, some distance away now.

“And you believe what your foster mother told you?”

“She knew much of the older faiths. All the faiths of realms of men and all their languages and history. Including tales of the fae. They live still in the frozen isles beyond Ismagaar, in grand palaces built with magic.” Jemel’s voice sounds quite dreamy as he speaks.

“The Dareks pronounced those ideas treachery,” Xan says bluntly, standing from a bush of a type he has never seen before, covered in prickling thorns and dark red berries.

“You know about that?”

Xan laughs. “You think when I prepared to come here I did not study this place? That we don’t have Plumian scholars? Plumian historians?”

The priest straightens, lifting up the lamp so the light plays on his veil. “I was taught it was a strange and backward place. In truth we are told the Plumians live like beasts. Your language is outlawed. But I think many in Attar would be surprised you have a language at all.”

“So you know that much of what the Empire teaches is lies.”

“I do. And I know the old legend of the Bellator is true, or likely based on truth.”

“And how did you come to believe something so terrible?”

“I was given access to the library by someone who charged me to translate some papers… writings by the Hevelikar Scholar Batreous. He writes much of these things.”

Xan is enjoying this conversation. He thinks it is the most words Jemel has ever spoken to him and the most feeling he has ever shown. “Of all the wonders I have discovered under the palace,” he says, “surely there is none so curious as the fact that the most devout priest in Azuria, who veils his face to glorify his God, spends his time translating heresy.”

“It’s hardly heresy.”

“What, then?” As Xan speaks he steps further away. He thinks he can hear the sound of water and when he moves towards it, he finds a stream running through the garden, water deep-black in the dark, but there are more plants growing on its banks, every shade of green, plus some that are vivid turquoise, or deep ochre. Some he knows and more he has never seen.

“History. The Hevelikar existed. Batreous existed, what they thought is of interest to the world of today,” Jemel says, winding his way through a thicket of roses and lavender.

Xan turns to watch him, surrounded by flowers and lit by his stuttering oil lamp. “And what did they think? What is in these papers?”

Jemel pauses before he says, “They claim a demon, one of the Bellator that escaped the Five Fae Princes, is rising in the Amber Forest.”

“A demon comes for the Dareks?”

“Comes for the whole world of men.”

“And you believe this to be real?” Because Jemel certainly sounds like he is doing more than simply translating historical documents. If he has read such things, he must have formed thoughts about them.

“I do not know,” Jemel says, sounding wistful. “In truth, I have never felt less sure of what I believe. Pershel raised me to be devout. But she also encouraged my talent for languages, something she shared. She told me I had a rare gift but it is because of that gift that I have read what I have read and I do not think that would please her. She thought me a true believer in Zai. But you are right to call me a heretic.”

Xan opens his mouth to protest that he has called Jemel no such thing.

But Jemel keeps speaking, leaving no gap for Xan’s contradictions. “When she died, I thought perhaps Zai took her from me as a punishment. For the way I had let those writings sway me. And then…”

When Jemel stops speaking, Xan feels his own heart beating fast. “Then what?” he says, thinking he knows what is coming. The heresy Jemel speaks of is not reading forbidden works, but something far more personal.

“Then you,” Jemel says, speaking in a whisper. “And you, when you touched me…” His voice shakes. Is he blushing under that veil? “And I…I thought it was perhaps another test and if I did not resist it, I’d lose someone else. But who would that even be? Because…” Jemel’s voice is growing thick. His next words crackle. “She was all I ever had…. And all I am is because of her. She cannot be taken from me again.”

Xan moves from the stream and crosses the garden. The place where Jemel stands seems full of heady scents. Blooms in the dark. One of those impossible rose bushes reaching up beside him. It feels so intimate.

Beside Xan, Jemel stumbles on the uneven ground. Without a thought, Xan reaches to take a steadying hold of Jemel’s wrist, but his grasp causes Jemel to jerk towards him, bumping into his chest.

Jemel gasps in surprise. He lifts his face. Through the veil, Xan can see the glitter of his gaze.