There had been a master mason among the architects, in the centuries past when the castle was first constructed. That long dead genius had known-whether by careful study or some instinct- that carving the stairs in a sloping method would funnel sound into the lower reaches of the great castle, and yet block any noise rising from the recesses. As a result, Darius could have screamed at the to of his voice and gone unheard, and yet was privy to every whisper of conversation from the two that approached him.

Not that there could be any doubt on the topic. No, the questions that the master had of this interview were far different, and not so readily answered by eavesdropping. Instead he had poised himself just to the right of the stairway opening, where what little of the chamber's natural air currents lingered in sullen eddies. It would, he'd surmised, give him cover from her abilities, and a chance to gauge her experience. If she sensed him coming, then they would be farther along then he would have dared hope. But if not, then the road before them would be ardous indeed. Particularly with that particular brand of crude stubbornness apparent in his new apprentice's voice.

At the introduction, Darius made his move. The clothes he wore we're not at all his preferred style- all assassins preferred formless clothes that made identification more difficult-, but for the occasion he had chosen a tight fighting waistcoat and trousers that fit snugly into soft rising boots. All in all, an ensemble designed to catch as little of the wind as possible when he stepped in front of her.

"Septa Vasnie, I must assume? And this is what I was expected was a prodigy?"