[ He could try to tell her that it’s different, that he’s different, that they’re different. That he’s never bitten Byerly’s hand. That he’s easy—that they could spend most of the morning talking about Alexandrie and Byerly and their feelings, all but replicating the worst irrelevant-afterthought feelings that Bastien woke from that nightmare with, and a silent worried look would be more than he expected and plenty to calm his heart.

But he thinks she knows, and knowing doesn’t make it better, and hearing it again wouldn’t either.

So he smiles. ]

I do. I’ll see you there. And I will tell him he is not allowed. Exiled. Maybe he will write you your paean after all.