Kire glanced at him sidelong; he was still hostile, but he did follow her in, and he wasn’t chucking rocks at her. He was looking at something else. She turned, her gaze following his, and only then did she pay attention to the beautiful stained glass window. She felt a pang then; it reminded her of her home, the Palace, the stained-glass windows that adorned the throne room. Her little cousins would play in there and admire the way the light danced, casting rainbow colors on the stone floor. [i]He cared for this place. Its people.[/i] When he barked at her, she lifted her hands and stepped back, walking away and out towards the open wall. Her back still to him, she murmured something under her breath, a common Amrian prayer. She didn’t believe in its power, not anymore, but it felt like the least she could do to fulfill the requisite rituals of a place like this. 

She turned to him, and though her look hadn’t softened, she didn’t draw her sword again. “My condolences,” she said honestly, as hollow as the words may be to him now. She gestured at the chapel. “Do you know why this was spared? I felt the familiar presence of blood magic in here.”