Cedric watches her wince, and it's a little funny, it is; seen that face from half a dozen Orlesians. Shame the Chantry doesn't do masks.

"'S fine. Just do the neck first," A finger lifts above empty cup, draws a line across his throat. Shkt. "Only need my head. S'pose the rest could go to the birds,"

But reckon the others would have something to say for that — and whatever Astrid's lady is, it's not his own. A special spirit, punted from Fade. Long have they turned to idols, away from My Light,

"Or burn it. Bury it under an oak. Wish I could tell y'more, but Mortalitasi... they don't talk on it much. Keep their secrets, even from us."

A shade bitter, a shade too drunk to hide it. But,

"Promise you. If we can't get a Sky Watcher," Maybe the Inquisition would've managed it. "Find the highest spot we can. See 's done right."