"Three months allows for quite a lot of observation," says the Lyctor, in a tone that is ... maybe, judged generously ... meant to be ... complimentary? Cajoling? Buttering-up, with better-quality butter than the canned stuff comprising Ianthe's hair? "Especially from the Heir to Cassy's House — I'm sure you've taken all sorts of interesting notes about just about everyone you've met, and everything you've seen."

He shrugs a single hand, which is a fascinating trick all by itself, and twists his mouth up into one of those frown-shaped rueful smiles.

"Not that I particularly expect you'd want to share the notes themselves with me, of course — instinctive guarding against plagiarism, I shouldn't wonder; she was always the same way."

Because, of course, there is not a single other reason under this or any other sun that Palamedes would hesitate to share everything he knows with a saintly stranger (according to self-introduction and clothing choices and generally being-a-black-hole to necromantic senses)...