"I cannot reconcile the idea of a woman who my father always said was gentle and loving even in all the brutality of the alienage with someone who would help such a man. That she might have had a hand in what he did—"

Her voice is quiet and steady, but she pauses then, and shakes her head. No good will come of this, of agonising over what truths the apostate might speak, what acts Liliwen Amsel may or may not have participated in, over what might have become of her in the time between.

Herian's head tilts slightly, an acknowledgment, though a faint curl of amusement lingers at the corner of her mouth. A moment skips past before she ventures, "Precious little good comes from men, in my experience."

It does not come quite so easily at the jokes and the droll comments that she seemed to throw out so easily in the Spire, but she's— she's trying. A little, as if a joke might make Adelaide feel better. It feels very childish.