Uriel clenched his lower lip between his teeth as Lucius pulled him to the side. Loathe as he was to admit it, he had indeed gone too far in the situation. While her brazen invasion was a breach to him, his returned hostility was not helping... as usual. The most unwelcome image of a moment long ago when his teacher stared him down for the same sort of behavior flashed in his mind-bringing with it a litany of emotions. Rage, resentment, loss, sorrow... and, damned-be-it, shame. After a moment, he released an gritted exhale and, with a look to Lucius first, turned towards the Councilor again.

"... my apologies for my hostility, madame. People inquiring after and seeking information on me is usually representative of a serious danger to me. That, given with your openly voiced suspicion..." he exhaled again, visibly uncomfortable as he repeatedly catches and stops himself from gritting his teeth-yet with an adamant expression even so. "... however, my response was untoward. Again, I apologize. To be clear, while I realize that my word alone offers little assurance in these circumstances, I am of no danger to you or yours-rather, are allied to-so long as you are not to myself, Lucius or our mission here."

As he finished, Ona's words caught his senses in the pause. An underground vault not in the Palais? He swallowed and coughed lightly while a pensive and worried weight bared down on his brow as he turned his attention to the seeress and the possible implications.

Conqvist was not in the Palais? Then where was he? Uriel had only hours at most left now and he had left scant instruction as to how what he was supposed to do more specifically to find that bastard's method of preservation. Was he in or near this supposed vault? No, Ona should have seen him if she saw the vault. Increasingly panicked thoughts ran through his mind while he struggled to maintain a stoic face with moderate success.

As Ona finished, he swallowed dryly. "... elemental? Can you describe it in more detail?" he asked with the slight break of fear at the end, he bead of sweat running down his temple the only significant hint to his rising desperation save one read well his eyes. Could this font of elemental magic be related to what was supposed to enable his survival? Could he perhaps ascertain the remedy from it himself-or, if it was a person, with their aid?