Hesitation, some calm, cool part of his mind said. Hiding something; appears distressed. The topic is tender – pressing into it may yield results. Often, one did not even have to press, not verbally; perceptivism was limited only in the sense that one had to know what one was looking for, and one could narrow down one’s options with silence – with subtle expressions – as much as one could with actual answers. Enough to know how and why to cast.
He was silent, waiting. Watching her chew her lip. The temptation was there, strong and terrible; this felt – important. He felt as if he had to, for her own good, if she would not tell him. For her –
He felt empty-handed; he felt as if he could not tell if he were right or wrong. They were unfamiliar feelings, and he did not like them at all.
He was very quiet instead, watching her until she caught his eye again. And went on, haltingly, in patches. She sounded guilty; his brow knit.
And his frown deepened when she mentioned her mother and father. Somehow, it was different to hear it from her. It was like hearing it for the first time, all over again. From Amelie’s lips, they might have been strangers; as far as Amelie and the Beauvilliers knew – and thank the gods for it – he knew and cared nothing of the Steerpikes. It had almost been easy to pretend that he had never met Julietta and Edmund.
Now, with Aurelie sitting beside him, he thought he could remember them a little more clearly. It made him feel strange. “They did not tell you,” he said, swallowing tightly, then felt very stupid. Of course they had not told her.
Aurelie’s hand went to her collarbones again. He wondered if she was worrying at the embroidery on her blouse at first, but then her hand slipped up to her neck, at first to something he could not see. He remembered her touching it on the moa; of a sudden, watching her take out the glinting bit of silver, it made sense.
Morandi’s heart had dropped into his stomach.
“Your birthday,” he murmured, “in – Loshis.” He was thinking aloud; his mind skipped and stumbled over itself. He had not thought he remembered after so long. He had scarce thought of it in years, and he had never seen her at Briarwood on her birthday, but he distinctly remembered the letters – that, at first, his mother had made him reluctantly write, and then that he had written himself, along with little drawings.
He could not remember the day, he realized. With an absurd tug of sentiment, which he tried very hard – and only semi-successfully – to swallow.
But – Loshis, that would have been…
A dozen questions rose up, then stuck in his throat. You went missing in Hamis. Why? Who, if not her, helped you? What is your relation to the Heshath vessel we suspect of harboring you? Where have you been since then? He had had a suspicion – Lilliana – and now it had been dashed almost as soon as he had formulated it.
In the silence, he found himself looking at her, as if his eyes had come into focus again. Holding the little tarnished silver locket in her hands.
The questions slid back down, and he blinked. Another set of realizations washed over him. “You saw her regularly, it seems,” he said. “If she finds that you are gone, will she seek you out?”
The question was matter-of-fact in the only way he knew how to be. This is a concern for you? he might have added, but held his sharp tongue behind his teeth, waiting.