"Apologies? Words are words, eh? You are sorry? We are sorry? They are sorry? They pay, little boy. They make it right." There is no such thing in their world as spoken compensation, no merit in words thrown in the wind. If the old king yet lived, his humiliation might soothe her —

But what is the boy Deimar's suffering to her? What does she know of him, what does he care of his face? His cheek seems thick, already.

"You want to know Alem's real trouble? Is not us, no-no. Their trouble is... decades, thinking they so good, eh? For everyone? Palahhhhdiiiiins and... sorcery, and..." The impatient wave of her hand, as she starts to walk. "All that nonsense. Watchers of hell. No one can touch them. They are above us all, eh? Treat us like shit. Well, you know who is above, now? It's Rathakku."

And he's not leaving. Unlike Eles. "Now, I have business, boy. I leave you."