“Don’t worry. It won’t be a shock.” Janel’s gaze returned to Kihrin, and her head tilted to the side as she watched him. “You know who they are too, don’t you?”

Kihrin hesitated, then said, “I have a strong suspicion. I think I’ve met your mother.” He drilled his fingers against the bar top. “And your father doesn’t like me. Not after—” He made a vague gesture toward Urthaenriel.

Janel’s smile tightened. “I cannot even begin to tell you how little my father’s opinion matters to me.”

“He’s a good man,” Kihrin said.

“He supports the rule of the greedy, the oppressive, and the degenerate. How good can he be?”

Ninavis leaned forward. “Who are we talking about here?”

“That’s what I was about to ask,” Dorna said. “I don’t know who your father is, foal. Never mattered to me.”

Janel made a face. “We’ll get to that part.” She gestured to Qown. “Do you feel ready to take over?”

Qown nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Qown’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.

Brother Qown woke in a library. He knew before he opened his eyes, smelling leather and the rich vanilla scent of old paper mixed with the scent of his favorite cinnamon tea. He woke smiling before he remembered why the tea seemed so comforting.

He sat up from the low, backless couch upon which he’d been sleeping. His clothes had been changed. He felt clean. He had no stubble on his chin. His book satchel sat next to the couch and his sun symbol hung from his neck. Brother Qown felt in perfect health, but a metaphoric black chasm of despair lurked off to the side—so wide and yawning he could’ve almost seen it with his naked eyes, if he’d just turned his head.

But his despair’s physical embodiment was present too. Relos Var sat at a nearby table, writing with a Kirpis-style quill. A large blue Kazivar-glazed teapot sat on the table next to matching teacups. The same teapot Father Zajhera used.

Brother Qown knew he should do something, say something, but he just stared, feeling numb.

“Have some tea,” Relos Var offered. “It’s your favorite.”

Qown hesitated a second, but he felt no pain, no suggestion he’d die bent over in misery if he disobeyed. He didn’t know if that meant Relos Var didn’t have his gaesh or had simply chosen not to use his gaesh.

Tea sounded nice.

Var poured two cups, placing the second one before the opposite chair. “I realize apologies are quite insufficient to the turmoil you’ve experienced. I would never have sent you to help Janel if I’d intended this outcome. You’re one of my favorite students. Curious, intelligent, compassionate toward others. Fine qualities, worthy of better than this.”