He was grateful that Remi continued the conversation without him, moving things forward when Jigano himself had become a roadblock. The question about whether Wessex had known what she was doing when she walked the Greatwood was close enough to what he had almost exploded with that he actually focused on the answer. Did he believe her? It would be so easy not to, to ascribe all manner of perfidy and sin to the newest Queen, and the blight in him urged on those darker impulses, whispering that to trust was to be a fool, was to show weakness and lose face...
But for all the faults he found in her, he had never known or heard of her lying. He believed that Sam had been innocent of what he did, that Bastien - for all his shallow ways - would never have condoned something that would hurt a pre-Ascended Rexanna or his other friends, and if the Voice did not tell them, why would she have told Wessex? Not that he put the goddess above playing favorites, but the Ascended had to live with the rest of them, and Wessex was too canny a woman to poison her own well like this.
It already answered the question his anger had sought to sharpen and throw at her, but her offer of listening was unexpected enough to shake some of the rage loose and he finally swallowed it back. He released the table to reach for his tea, downing it in one swift gulp to wash down the thick blood that coated his tongue before he met her eyes again, tense but back in controlfor the moment. "I think," he said slowly, voice cold and words clipped, but carefully, almost painfully polite, "that going forward, we all need to be more careful of what the gods ask of us. The Voice has shown no love for anyone not Ascended, or she would have used her power to reverse what's happening to the Greatwood and the blighted. The old gods, likewise, may use this opportunity to stir up resentment and incite violence against the Ascended - for a second time, from what little we've gleaned from history. And after this, no one can claim ignorance for having their piety used as a pawn." He grimaced, thinking of his own promises to Ludo and the last prayer at the shrine. How much was he willing to give in his faith? And what was the line that he would not cross? Questions that would have to be answered in time, and that no one else could answer for him.
He wished the gods could sort out their problems amongst themselves and leave the mortals out of it, but the once-mortal Voice had gone and inserted herself into that pantheon uninvited and now, it seemed, they all had to deal with the fallout of that decision.
"I don't know if you'll be able to keep people out of the Temple," he suggested, wearier and more quietly as the anger continued to ebb. "It's less comfortable, but there are supplies in the Rathskeller, the Infirmary is already there and fully stocked, and the Shrine makes it easier for those who seek solace in prayer." His brow twitched as he tried to arch it at Wessex, but he couldn't find the energy. "Or those Ascended who need to feed during that week, which might happen if someone gets injured out patrolling the dark."
But for all the faults he found in her, he had never known or heard of her lying. He believed that Sam had been innocent of what he did, that Bastien - for all his shallow ways - would never have condoned something that would hurt a pre-Ascended Rexanna or his other friends, and if the Voice did not tell them, why would she have told Wessex? Not that he put the goddess above playing favorites, but the Ascended had to live with the rest of them, and Wessex was too canny a woman to poison her own well like this.
It already answered the question his anger had sought to sharpen and throw at her, but her offer of listening was unexpected enough to shake some of the rage loose and he finally swallowed it back. He released the table to reach for his tea, downing it in one swift gulp to wash down the thick blood that coated his tongue before he met her eyes again, tense but back in control
He wished the gods could sort out their problems amongst themselves and leave the mortals out of it, but the once-mortal Voice had gone and inserted herself into that pantheon uninvited and now, it seemed, they all had to deal with the fallout of that decision.
"I don't know if you'll be able to keep people out of the Temple," he suggested, wearier and more quietly as the anger continued to ebb. "It's less comfortable, but there are supplies in the Rathskeller, the Infirmary is already there and fully stocked, and the Shrine makes it easier for those who seek solace in prayer." His brow twitched as he tried to arch it at Wessex, but he couldn't find the energy. "Or those Ascended who need to feed during that week, which might happen if someone gets injured out patrolling the dark."
