Redvers has no memory of being a boy in Chantry school, but her question nonetheless lands like one from a teacher, skeptical and trying to either prompt a correct answer or humiliate him for the lack of one. That she doesn't know hasn't yet fully occurred to him.

He's armed. There's no reason to have left him armed if he wasn't willing—but whatever made him willing, whether it was a spell or some terrible logic, is gone now.

"No," he says. He draws the sword the rest of the way after all, but his tone has a flat touch of exasperation. "I don't know why I was about to be sacrificed. And whatever it was, I'm not interested anymore, so—"

The other pairs of sacrificers and sacrificees, with one exception, seem to be talking it out. Maybe. He's only paying them a little bit of attention.