The silence that follows his words - Petrana doesn't wear it awkwardly, her small smile lingering as her head remains tilted at that slight angle, studying him. But it lingers, her gaze measuring and her mind working carefully through the many different things she might say to that. Many of them would simply not do, so soon -

"I can only apologise," she says, smoothly, "for the shortcomings of the world to which I was born."

There's a but.

Her finger rises.

"But, if I may, for anyone to teach, first: someone must learn. You do not mean, I am sure," gently, inviting him to smile, "to tell me your teachers were made from all-knowing clay, formed perfectly in one breath to guide the next. It is one way, today."

Her hands spread. In her mind's eye, Marius raises his sword.

"Perhaps when he is done, it will be another."