“It seems your concern about traditionalists appearing at the ball was well-founded,” Haylen noted, in his usual calm manner.

Ezeas shook his head.

“In the end, Mother's people were unable to keep them from sneaking in. And now, the news of Beren's demise has created a wave of animosity towards Saelina as well as Ivál and his tolerance towards humans.”

Haylen nodded.

“It's an unfortunate consequence of Captain Cappola's death; one we now have to work against.”

Ezeas scoffed, his body tensing in the chair.

“How did it even reach the general population? I thought the other attackers were taken captive.”

“It seems they have had some help from the inside. It would explain how they avoided Tiyala's detection and found you in the basement foyer,” Haylen speculated.

He sighed.

“The people of Islasa will be split. It may very well be that the captain's threat of a civil war will come true, after all.”

Ezeas was keenly aware that his grandmother would go to great lengths to keep that outcome from coming to fruition and knew her plans would require his own involvement.

“How's she doing?” he asked, not even attempting to hide the fact that he was changing the subject.

His father hesitated, his gaze meeting his son's, steadily.

“Perhaps it would be better if you asked her yourself.”

The urge to come up with an excuse was strong, but he knew it would not fool his father. Instead, he nodded and stood. Haylen's eyes followed him as he left the study, and he wondered whether the older man was picking up on what he did not voice.

The path to Saelina's room was short, and he was in front of her door before he had a proper idea of what to say to her. He knocked but heard no answer; while the notion of entering unbidden did not sit well with him, his concern about her physical condition compelled him to open the door and glance inside. Her bed was empty, but the glass doors to her balcony were left open. The thought that she had been foolish enough to run away, while people were out for her blood, drove Ezeas to enter and head for the doors.

He found her sitting on the floor of the stone balcony, her back against the balusters; she did not look at him, and her eyes were unfocused and distant.

He came closer and knelt down in front of her, but she remained still. Finally, he reached out and put a hand on her healthy shoulder.

“Saelina.”

A gasp escaped her, and her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“You nearly scared me to death,” she said, accusingly.

He raised an eyebrow and stood.

“Really? You barely reacted.”

She got on her feet and placed her arms on the railing, observing the view of the garden.

“In my mother's words: 'A lady of proper upbringing ought never squeal in fright'.”

Ezeas narrowed his eyes.

“You can't be serious.”

“Lacille had strict rules for social conduct, no matter the situation.”

He pondered the implications for a moment.

“What if your dress caught on fire?”

She breathed a short laugh.

“Easy: 'should your garments somehow be set ablaze, you should seek out the nearest (preferably single) gentleman and alert him to your predicament. Request his help in procuring some water with which to douse the flames and use it as a point of conversation',” she recited, her voice monotone.

She caught his incredulous look and shrugged.

“It was an obvious question, so naturally she had an answer. Apparently, it would be 'scandalous' for said gentleman to use his shoes to stomp out the flames. 'A man's footwear ought never touch a lady's finery'. She was very insistent upon that.”

“I can't decide if you're lucky to be alive or whether you might have been given an advantage.”

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

“I used to believe I was lucky not to be insane...”

There was something in her tone, a melancholy which came from deep within her.

“Has that changed?” he asked.

He leaned against the railing, his arm resting on it, as he observed her. She seemed to search for the words, looking down at her folded hands.

“Isn't it supposed to be harder?”

He waited patiently as she paused.

“It was the same with the pirates. I killed them all and I'm...I'm fine. My shoulder notwithstanding.”

She clenched her hands, her expression curious and uncertain.

“Are you upset that you're not upset?”

“I wonder if there's something wrong with me, if I'm...hollow in some way.”

He breathed deeply, wondering how much time she had spent reflecting on her lack of remorse.

“I can't speak of what you should and shouldn't feel. Even on such matters as life and death, nyxis and humans are very different, in my admittedly limited experience.”

He turned his face towards the garden with a pensive expression.

“However, I've been in the company of insanity, once or twice before. And I know that right now, I'm not.”

He glanced at her and met her eyes as she seemed to take in his words. He turned towards her, again.

“I owe you an apology.”

She cocked her head to the side, her eyes wide.

“You are trying to give me a heart attack, aren't you?”

He ignored the jibe and continued.

“You were right about what you said in the garden...and what you accused me of in the alley. I have a hard time treating you like I would an equal of my own race. I often see humans as I would children: impulsive and reckless.”

He pointed to the cave ceiling.

“You own almost the entire surface of the world, yet you're always greedy for more.”

“You're aware that you're not gaining any favor with me?”

He chuckled.

“I thought I had your kind figured out. And now I'm wondering how often I've underestimated someone because they weren't nyxan. It's a sobering thought.”

He sighed.

“Maybe if I had trusted you enough to tell you the truth, we wouldn't have been in that situation.”

She looked out at the garden, but a slight blush was creeping over her cheeks and she was wringing her hands.

“I'm sorry, Saelina.”

“It's alright,” she said, quickly, while shifting, uneasily.

“You don't have to...I mean, all things considered...”

She trailed off, and he waited for her to continue; she seemed to have difficulty gathering her thoughts, and he gave her the time, not wanting to rush her.

“As impossible as it may sound, my time here has been far less painful than the last decade in Mahlein.”

Ezeas could not hide his surprise. While he knew her life had been problematic before he appeared, it was difficult to imagine being kidnapped and impaled as an improvement.

“You don't expect me to believe you feel no resentment for being dragged here, against your will?”

She said nothing for several seconds. Then shrugged.

“A part of me does. Another part of me feels I was never going to achieve true freedom on my own. My original plan was to marry the first, the oldest man of means. Is this better? Is it worse? As things stand, your council has offered me a chance to control power beyond what I thought possible before.”

He accepted her answer, though he was unsure what to think of it. Was she truly content with the current situation, or was she biding her time? Perhaps it would be better to wait and see what her next move would be.

Looking at her, he noticed she was leaning mainly on her left arm.

“How's your shoulder doing?”

She grimaced.

“It's sore, but Tiyala did an excellent job. She says it'll still scar, though.”

Ezeas nodded.

“Healing is the most exhausting use of magic. We usually do the bare minimum to avoid long-term damage and leave the body to do the rest.”

“Why is that? I would think summoning flames or the like would be more consuming.”

“Living creatures have a lot of complex systems in their bodies, it takes understanding and careful manipulation to restore a part of someone's body,” he explained.

“I see. Considering the alternative, I'm grateful my biggest worry is a little pain.”

“My mother will probably give you something to help manage that,” he told her.

She furrowed her brow.

“That explains why the water tasted so bitter.”

“Bitter?”

She nodded.

“Usually, the water tastes sweet. Not tonight, though,” she told him with a shrug.

“Would you like me to bring your complaint to the hostess?”

Her eyes widened.

“No! Your parents have been so generous already.”

He kept a straight face, unable to resist the urge to tease her.

“Are you sure? Bitter water is an egregious oversight in nyxan culture.”

She stared at him, no longer fooled.

“Must you add torture to my struggles, Essy?”

He smirked.

“I'm sorry.”

Again, she looked away, quickly muttering her acceptance of the apology. Ezeas found himself fascinated with her awkward discomfort.

“So, apologies seem to be your weakness. Who would have guessed?”

She rolled her eyes, but her expression became somber.

“No one's ever apologized to me before. At least not unless they bumped into me or stepped on my toes. Someone telling me they're sorry for how they treated me...I don't know how to respond to that.”

“I'm not afraid to be wrong, Saelina,” he stated.

“And when I am, who should own it but myself?”

She was squirming under his gaze and he could hear her stutter and mumble something under her breath, though it seemed to be about her own awkward feelings. He laughed and she shot him an accusing glare.

“Would it help if I dropped the subject?”

She nodded, and he found himself tempted to renege the offer but thought better of it.

“You realize the money I originally got for your capture doesn't cover half the issues you've caused, thus far?”

“I'll pretend to be ashamed,” she responded, dryly.

“You better act properly humble, whelp, if the council ever complains,” he chided her, jokingly.

Their conversation returned to its normal back and forth, and he felt reassured that she would be fine.