Given her preoccupation, he expected her to be as conflicted and lost in thought as he was. Her quick smile, however small, was a welcome contradiction of that worry, and her unexpected revelation of improvement was a welcome one. He smiled in return, tilting his head to the side in a wry acknowledgment that things were better - because Zariah was gone, or so he assumed. "That is very good to hear," he murmured, courtesy and sincerity for once able to wear the same words. Her followup, however, was even more welcome, and his grin widened with genuine pleasure. "Gods most fortunate, that's even better to hear. I'd meant to ask you what was going on, but when I was declared fugitive..." He shrugged a little helplessly, hoping she would understand why a man wanted by the Tyrant's regime dared not seek out a woman who had seemed to be working for it. "Well. Congratulations, my friend."
Her own congratulations ended in a question, as well it should, and his smile slipped a little, a small shake of his head in negation. "Not exactly," he said softly. His downward glance had begun with unease, but he caught the brand peeking from her bodice and felt a flicker of worry - and a curdle of anger at Bastien - as he bit his lip against asking about it immediately. He had never seen it there before, and at first the memory of the story she had shared with him did not surface, so much as the memory of the bruises Lucas's fangs had left on her shoulder.
Her question was a difficult one to answer; one he had been asking himself for over an hour without a satisfactory response. He looked away, catching his lip between his teeth as he sought to buy himself a little more time. "From the frying pan to the fire, as they say," he said with a smile that held little humor. "And speaking of fire, shall I light a lantern for us? I hadn't realized how late it was."
Her own congratulations ended in a question, as well it should, and his smile slipped a little, a small shake of his head in negation. "Not exactly," he said softly. His downward glance had begun with unease, but he caught the brand peeking from her bodice and felt a flicker of worry - and a curdle of anger at Bastien - as he bit his lip against asking about it immediately. He had never seen it there before, and at first the memory of the story she had shared with him did not surface, so much as the memory of the bruises Lucas's fangs had left on her shoulder.
Her question was a difficult one to answer; one he had been asking himself for over an hour without a satisfactory response. He looked away, catching his lip between his teeth as he sought to buy himself a little more time. "From the frying pan to the fire, as they say," he said with a smile that held little humor. "And speaking of fire, shall I light a lantern for us? I hadn't realized how late it was."
