Listening far more than she actually looked to be doing, Maea set the book down and picked up another, reading the title without quite registering what it said. The reasoning was one she thought very typical of Sunjata, from what little she knew of him so far. The stubbornness, the refusal to do as anyone else said. A master of his own seas, or at least trying to be, he'd sooner mark his own body to spite someone else than allow them to control it. All things considered, she was a little surprised that this conflict with Phoebe had ended so soon, and so painlessly as it still had. None of them were hurt - though she looked at his bruises again, wondering - and though the psychological damage would surely linger for a long time, it could have been worse. Far worse.
"I'm sorry about your mother," she said, her voice expressing the pain his did not. Maea had never known hers, but the pain at her loss was still ingrained in her, like a piece of her was missing. Irrevocably removed and destroyed. "It almost sounds like you were set up... Like he was meant to find out, somehow. Maybe I'm wrong." After all, she had no idea what part Lusea's father had played in the rebellion.
Recalling something, Maea considered the bindings of the tome between her hands, thoughts far away. "That night, when I slipped up... I think I saw wings? Blue ones... Were you flying?" It was a hazy image, muddled by panic and twisted by her own blurred vision in that dark tavern room... but it came with the sound of flapping wings, of a draft of rushing air where there should have been none.
"I'm sorry about your mother," she said, her voice expressing the pain his did not. Maea had never known hers, but the pain at her loss was still ingrained in her, like a piece of her was missing. Irrevocably removed and destroyed. "It almost sounds like you were set up... Like he was meant to find out, somehow. Maybe I'm wrong." After all, she had no idea what part Lusea's father had played in the rebellion.
Recalling something, Maea considered the bindings of the tome between her hands, thoughts far away. "That night, when I slipped up... I think I saw wings? Blue ones... Were you flying?" It was a hazy image, muddled by panic and twisted by her own blurred vision in that dark tavern room... but it came with the sound of flapping wings, of a draft of rushing air where there should have been none.
