Brother Qown picked up his tea, fighting back nausea. Apologies were insufficient. Relos Var had torn out a piece of his soul. Qown didn’t even know who held the piece now. “Apologies were quite insufficient” didn’t exactly cover how he felt about the situation.

“You lied to me,” Qown said after sifting through a hundred insults and childlike protests.

“No.”

Qown couldn’t help himself; his mouth dropped open. “No? Did you just say no?”

“Qown, I have lived a very long time,” Relos Var said. “Was it lying to show myself to you as an identity I’ve worn since before you were born? Zajhera isn’t a throwaway disguise some assassin mimic might wear and discard. Zajhera is a good man who wants to help people find their better selves. He’s no less real than Relos Var, although Relos Var’s views are more confrontational. And if neither one is who I really am, their existence is no less sincere.”

Brother Qown narrowed his eyes at the wizard. In his days with the Way of Vishai, he’d encountered people who had been so traumatized, they’d separated their minds, like crystal shards, to try to protect themselves from trauma. He didn’t think Relos Var was so afflicted.

He hoped.

Finally, he snorted and looked away. “That’s an excuse. You lied to me. You lied to everyone.”

“Let’s have this talk again in a few thousand years, when you’ve had to reinvent yourself a hundred times and have seen your loved ones come and go like leaves falling in a forest.”

Brother Qown let that pass. “So who are you? Who are you really? If this”—he waved his hand at Relos Var’s body—“is a lie, and Father Zajhera is too, what do you look like? What’s your real name?”

“Rev’arric,” Relos Var answered. “As for what I look like…” He grimaced. “I’d rather not. A ritual gone wrong has left me in a state not fit for polite company. Best not to demonstrate. Kaen would be upset if I destroyed his palace.”

Brother Qown looked away, crossed his arms across his chest, and rubbed his arms as if cold.

“You’re a monster,” he whispered.

“No,” said Relos Var. “Monster is such an easily digestible idea. Horrible, evil to its core, irredeemable. If I’m a monster, then anyone who opposes me is by logical deduction a hero, yes?” He leaned over. “It’s not that simple. Sometimes everyone is wrong and you must decide whose wrongness is more acceptable.”

Brother Qown wouldn’t look at the tea. It sat there, steaming, smelling wonderful, reminding him of comfortable lies. Father Zajhera hadn’t ever been Father Zajhera. Monster.

Relos Var sighed and picked up his quill again. He dipped it in ink and continued writing. “You’re being dramatic, Qown.”

“I just feel stupid not to have realized the truth.”