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You put on a perfectly innocent smile.
"Like I told that Hrassi fellow, Maia Taris's life ended sixty-three standard years ago."
The Marchioness frowns visibly.
"That is not what you told Hrassi," she says, a warning note in her voice. "You specifically told him that she died."
Ah, so she caught that.
"Hrassi got the slightly dramatized version of events. To you, Marchioness, I offer nothing but the unvarnished truth."
"You're aware of the lie detectors in this room," the statement is part realization and part warning.
"It is a safe assumption to make when talking to a Noble," you nod.
"Then explain to me why my technowizard tells me you are Maia Taris."
"I imagine it's because the auguries they installed on their drones have indicated as much."
The Marchioness's eyes narrow dangerously.
"Does this glibness have any purpose other than potentially angering me?"
It's certainly angering the Vatgrown at her side. A curiosity, that.
"I merely wish to point out that magitech is a poorly developed discipline, prone to failure and error due to its adherents' insistence on achieving complete control over a force that, almost by definition, cannot ever fully be controlled."
"My technowizard is <span class="mu-i">extremely</span> adept at his job and I will not have his ability or reputation slandered," a flash of genuine anger flashes through her eyes, the calm, polite mask cracking ever so slightly. Uh oh.
"My apologies, Marchioness," you bow your head slightly. "If you say he's competent, then it must be true."
"I will accept your apology on the condition that I receive a straight answer. Are you saying you are <span class="mu-i">not</span> Maia Taris?"
"I am not. I am Elne Blavis."
The Marchioness falls silent, her finger now visibly tapping against her knee in agitation.
(cont)
