Thranduil is content to wait and dry, allowing Corvo to dictate the bounds of the conversation, so the silence is comfortable enough for him. Thranduil turns his attention from the flames to Corvo, and gestures with his palms open.

"I do not think you can. I do not think any can." And they'd be too revealing, if asked. Instead, he settles his hands in his lap again, and wishes for a comb.

"Did you make a bargain with him? A deal of some sort?"