[ she half assumes he's hung up — but then he's speaking, and her eyes are closing, and what a thing it is to wonder now: whether he's gotten a better measure of her than she'd thought.

the simplest solution,

anders has been fiery thus far, a defensive breed of aggression. a man who finds threat in every shadow, who begins snarling before it might ever close in. a frustration before, a signal now: she doesn't expect this for a lie, not with his talk of mockery. the man is not a skilled manipulator.

(the best never appear as though they are, but there is a point at which even orlesian paranoia must be reined in)

he's found her weaknesses before, and he's pushed. regardless of his aims, she'd sooner not cede him this ground now, would rather not connect a pattern to her opinions. but this isn't something that she can lie about. however dearly she might try, the words would taste false.

the truth does, too — she knows it wasn't anything to satisfy amsel, will not be here and now. but,

the simplest solution cuts the sharpest. very well. ]

They say that the Spire's Annulment, [ she puts the pen down. better not to indulge that bad habit any further, they'd have a bloody drum march. ] Marked the beginning of hostilities in the South. Perhaps.

But holding things together, those final few years —

[ there's only so tight one might grip before forming a fist. refugees from the north sowing trouble. other apostates growing bolder, the fraternities inside set to boil.

detached, as though an afterthought: ]

— Until the very end, you know, I believed that we'd make it.