"Maybe that's what she assumed I'd do on my own," he mutters. "Lock him in a cell and stand guard, like I do all day anyway. Maker forbid anyone give me a task that requires a brain."
But Myr's right, no matter how much he'd rather wallow in self-pity, and he can put the pieces together at that suggestion--that bar brawl; how had she put it? 'Scraping him off the floor of a cell, beat to the void and back?'--and realize exactly why she might want to take out her frustrations on a bigger, more theoretically durable punching bag.
It still doesn't change what she'd said, nor the outcome. It doesn't make it any easier to bear. And it doesn't make his faith feel any less brutally wasted. Anyone else might get a bitter, snarled what would you know, but--
--not here. Not now. Even if Myr genuinely wouldn't know, Simon would be gentler with his friend, but this is an issue that must be so close and painfully personal that Simon feels almost as if he ought to apologize.
"Is that why you don't call yourself a knight-enchanter?" he asks, careful and quiet.
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But Myr's right, no matter how much he'd rather wallow in self-pity, and he can put the pieces together at that suggestion--that bar brawl; how had she put it? 'Scraping him off the floor of a cell, beat to the void and back?'--and realize exactly why she might want to take out her frustrations on a bigger, more theoretically durable punching bag.
It still doesn't change what she'd said, nor the outcome. It doesn't make it any easier to bear. And it doesn't make his faith feel any less brutally wasted. Anyone else might get a bitter, snarled what would you know, but--
--not here. Not now. Even if Myr genuinely wouldn't know, Simon would be gentler with his friend, but this is an issue that must be so close and painfully personal that Simon feels almost as if he ought to apologize.
"Is that why you don't call yourself a knight-enchanter?" he asks, careful and quiet.