Moonspear and watered heaven with their tears

This was — awkward. But dealing with others had always been awkward, aside from the loveliness and social grace that Callyope had always shown him. He knew she had bridged a gap for him each time they spoke, and she'd always seemed to do it without straining or stumbling.

Here, all he could do was answer honestly, unable to guess at what sort of test he was taking.

"Fealty is different from loyalty," he said, haltingly, unsure if she would resent this correction. Coming from a place where his worth had been based entirely on his generosity and devotion, Fealty had always been something that felt beneath him. What was anything worth if it was not freely and lovingly given? What was the point of a promise that had to be extracted?

But it seemed fitting, right then. She did not know him by his works; only by his words. And she did not know what his lack of loyalty may as well have wraught. If he had been a better man, perhaps her kinswoman would still be among them.

"If you want it, then I offer it," he decided. "I am not too proud."

This was a sin, in his homeland. A man without pride was hardly a man at all. He wondered what Andes would say if he could see his son, now.