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“Your words are wise,” you reply slowly, your voice low and cold, “I promise that I shall consider them.”
Which isn't a lie, as such. You'll consider his words very carefully for a second, maybe two, and then you'll discard them. He likely knows just as much himself. A man of his position, you have little doubt that he understands the grubby underbelly of human behaviour. Wise counsel is all too often powerless in the face of impulse.
“Tell me something, Isambard,” Master Silvera says, “What if you delve as deep into the Demesne as possible, and still find nothing? What if you turn over every rock in the kingdom, but no secrets come crawling out? Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not trying to intimidate you. I merely fear that you may be asking questions which have no answer.”
You hesitate, then shrug. “If that happens, then I can still say that I tried,” you tell him, “If I give up now, I'll never forgive myself.”
Master Silvera nods, as if reaching some conclusion. “I understand, Isambard,” he sighs, “If you wish to explore the Demesne further, I can see that I have no right to stop you. King Albrecht has already expressed his wish that you be allowed, and I shall not challenge it. I have warned you and offered you my counsel. What you choose to do next will be your business. I would ask only one thing.”
“Nothing too onerous, I hope,” you tell him with a thin smile.
“Nothing too onerous,” he agrees, “Offer a prayer before you depart. Even if you do not believe, it is never a bad idea to allow yourself a moment of inner peace.”
Just like Jan said, all that time ago. You nod, then get up to leave the office.
“Oh yes, Miss?” Master Silvera adds, calling out to Ariel, “I suggest you do the same. Your burden may not be as heavy as the one your friend carries, but I see that it wears on you nonetheless.”
“I'll say an extra prayer just for you,” Ariel assures him, offering the priest a hesitant attempt at a smile.
-
“I hate places like this,” Ariel confesses as you sit in one of the long benches laid out before the altar, “Just... hate them.”
“Not much of a believer?”
“No, I am, just... not like this,” she explains, shaking her head, “If the Godhead doesn't notice us, doesn't even know we exist, why bother building grand altars and cathedrals? The only church I need is the night sky, and-”
“And the only altar you need is the full moon,” you finish for her, “That's from a poem.”
Ariel nods silently.
“A poem that my father wrote,” you add, giving her a firm look.
“Oh. Really?” Ariel hesitates, “It's been a very long time since I read it. The name probably didn't mean anything to me back then. It's not... there's nothing weird about it. Back then, I read anything I could about the Insight. That's all.”
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