Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

‘Speak without fear, friend,’ the man encouraged—laughter echoing hollowly in the room in which they shared. It was the words of a viper, masked as a mouse—Akavir’s knowledge of such political standings had been brief from his days at the Empire, but he had witnessed enough to know that speaking without fear might have been encouraged, but it didn’t mean one would still speak without consequence.

The man’s eyes were sharp on Wren, who remained leaning to him. Did he wonder of their relationship? Or perhaps he hoped she would devolve further in the throes that often came with false freedom given by intoxication.

“Lilitu was born a princess in an Empire,” he offered, eyes tracing the man, watching for any tic of recognition. “The politics there were less than noble… I worked hard to find her a new home, away from such… antics.” He paused then, wondering what this man would read into his tone—his carefully chosen words. “So I was surprised she had managed to find herself back to them.”

Defiance, then, when he could feel the light burning of the berries. Nothing to hinder him, for his samples had been meager--but again, another one to his mouth, as if he did attempt to match Senmut.