[There may yet come a day when Gideon vents that bitter part of herself at him. Ortus is still half-expecting it, despite the fragile accord they seem to have implicitly struck for the sake of this conversation. It is no less than he deserves, and much less than she is owed an accounting for.

But for now, there is this: the somewhat familiar sound of her laughter, the unfamiliar tinge of her wistfulness. The inclusion in the fantasy of crusty squid dunking, which Ortus may readily imagine with no small satisfaction.]

An image to meditate upon in unquiet hours.

[Ortus folds his hands together primly in his lap, but his tone retains its softness as he looks at her once more. Mutual distaste for a common adversary is a start.]

I imagine the subsequent thoughts were not so straightforward.

[A glancing acknowledgement, carefully restrained; as Lady Pent once told him, these things should not be pushed before their time.

The shock of it has begun to set in, so enormous and grand that it has a paradoxically numbing effect. He might as well have been told the moon in the sky is a knucklebone. It is a revelation bigger than him, and so has a hazy, unreal quality. What is real, close at hand, is the young woman before him, warding off her agitation with a shield of levity. He dwells on what to say next, none of the choices precisely correct, and settles at last on the least imperfect seeming.]

Is there anything you ask of me, knowing this?

[Other questions, such as who else knows of it, may come after.]