Sephryn’s brows rose. She glanced at Kile, then back at Farilane. Neither seemed to offer insight. “Bran’s parents were there at the end. So were mine. They all saw it happen. Brin went off the balcony at Avempartha, over the Parthaloren Falls. Her body was obviously never found, but someone else was with her up on that terrace when it happened. The reasonable assumption was that he killed her, but no one ever discovered who it was or why he did it. According to all our parents, Brin was this wonderful, innocent woman, beloved by all.”

“Woman?” Farilane gave a glance to Kile, who remained standing near the door, stone-faced. “The general belief—by the Monks of Maribor—is that Brin was a man. You know who the Monks of Maribor are?”

Sephryn nodded. “I’m acquainted with the group. Bran went on a crusade to teach the world to read, but, sadly, the Monks of Maribor fall short of Bran’s abilities in many ways.”

“You object to the god Maribor?” Farilane asked.

“The goddess of mankind is Mari, not Maribor. The monks misunderstood the passage where Brin wrote the words Mari-born, thinking they were one word. You see, Mari-born refers to mankind—those born of Mari. Maybe Brin wrote the words too close together, or perhaps the monks saw what they wanted. Regardless, they apparently joined these two, creating the masculine name Maribor. Which suited them fine.”

“Interesting. A pattern is emerging,” Farilane said. “In addition to Maribor being male and Brin being a man, they also teach that Brin fought demons, traversed the underworld, and returned to tell about it.” Farilane expected to elicit a laugh from the empress dowager. Instead . . .

Sephryn looked away, not at Kile this time. Her focus was the floor, but her eyes tensed.

“What’s wrong?”

“It would be a mistake to assume the monks got everything wrong.”

“You can’t be referring to the myth of the Underworld Odyssey?” Farilane stared at Sephryn skeptically. “That has to be made up. It’s the most ridiculous part of Brin’s story, which curiously was never written down.” She pointed at the book in the empress dowager’s hands. “I haven’t actually read that whole book, so are you saying it’s in there?”

Sephryn shook her head.

“That says a lot then, doesn’t it? That tale was obviously an effort on the part of subsequent religious fanatics who endeavored to create a narrative suitably fantastic to provide the necessary awe and grant them the authority required to construct and wield outlandish claims that can’t be challenged because, after all, this Brin person actually spoke to the gods—didn’t he?”