How fruitless it ever is to rise to bait. How bloody tempting. But distaste cannot be indulged, it won't do anything here.

Yet it was satisfying to see her brought so close to doing so anyway. Atticus's smile widens an unsettling fraction.

"The books I most require you will no doubt be unable to fetch for me, as they will never be allowed beyond Tevinter's borders." Slowly, he lifts his hands so that Wren can see what he intends to do--not to escape his binds, but to pick up a quill and sheet of parchment from the rudimentary work table set in front of them. He dips it in the inkwell, then takes some time to write down a number of titles, pausing occasionally as though to wrack his brain for additional information.

Eventually, he straightens up and walks as far as the chains will allow him, to offer the list out to Wren. "For now, this should do the trick."