Humor helped hide the tension and the anger, a familiar defense against showing too dark a countenance, even if the jokes were darker still than honest rage might have been. Decision made, it was worth putting a brave face on it, at least. That was practically a requirement of being a bard, and Jigano had no intention of abandoning his training now, not when it had stood him in good stead for so many years. Still, humor alone could only go so far, and it was not merely his own life he would be risking by giving himself over into Launceleyn hands. Those who loved him deserved to have their say as well...
But not if it meant putting even more people he cared for so deeply at risk. Amalia and Rory were not fools, but they could be hot-headed (no less than he and Deimos, in point of fact) and this was a situation that called for calm and clear thinking. He didn't need to tell the mountain to protect the baker, but the farmer who held the fox's heart was another matter. Jigano was given no chance to tense and wait for a considered response, however; Deimos's swift agreement brought a true smile to his lips in spite of the darkness of the reason he had asked. Deimos knew, for all they came from different worlds and different backgrounds. War had scarred them each, stolen from both, and neither of them should be asked to survive such loss again.
He inclined his head in gratitude, but tilted his chin at the sly secret in the warrior's voice, a brow raised in inquiry. An inquiry quickly answered, blue eyes widening first with surprise and then wicked approval. "I'll be there," he murmured, satisfied that his friends had things well in hand already. An extra pair was always helpful, however, and his grin held a knife's edge sharpness to it.
It faded a moment later as he exhaled and glanced away, mention of one plan reminding him of another. "And if I can win free of the Manor again, by tact or guile, you should know that I intend to go back down into the Spire," he said cautiously, studying Deimos's expression for hints of censure or the exhaustion that had overtaken them all after the last ill-fated descent. "We may have escaped, but there is one left down there who cannot, and I would not see him succumb as the Tulmhainar did." He raised a calming hand, a wry smile on his lips. "I won't ask you to come. I don't know if Amalia would forgive me if I did. But I don't want to run off into danger without letting someone know where I'm going and when." Because, strangest and most wonderful (and most terrifying) of all, there were too many people who cared about him now for him to behave so impetuously. Or so selfishly, to disappear without a word on a potentially lethal quest.
But not if it meant putting even more people he cared for so deeply at risk. Amalia and Rory were not fools, but they could be hot-headed (no less than he and Deimos, in point of fact) and this was a situation that called for calm and clear thinking. He didn't need to tell the mountain to protect the baker, but the farmer who held the fox's heart was another matter. Jigano was given no chance to tense and wait for a considered response, however; Deimos's swift agreement brought a true smile to his lips in spite of the darkness of the reason he had asked. Deimos knew, for all they came from different worlds and different backgrounds. War had scarred them each, stolen from both, and neither of them should be asked to survive such loss again.
He inclined his head in gratitude, but tilted his chin at the sly secret in the warrior's voice, a brow raised in inquiry. An inquiry quickly answered, blue eyes widening first with surprise and then wicked approval. "I'll be there," he murmured, satisfied that his friends had things well in hand already. An extra pair was always helpful, however, and his grin held a knife's edge sharpness to it.
It faded a moment later as he exhaled and glanced away, mention of one plan reminding him of another. "And if I can win free of the Manor again, by tact or guile, you should know that I intend to go back down into the Spire," he said cautiously, studying Deimos's expression for hints of censure or the exhaustion that had overtaken them all after the last ill-fated descent. "We may have escaped, but there is one left down there who cannot, and I would not see him succumb as the Tulmhainar did." He raised a calming hand, a wry smile on his lips. "I won't ask you to come. I don't know if Amalia would forgive me if I did. But I don't want to run off into danger without letting someone know where I'm going and when." Because, strangest and most wonderful (and most terrifying) of all, there were too many people who cared about him now for him to behave so impetuously. Or so selfishly, to disappear without a word on a potentially lethal quest.
