The glaive froze half-formed at the name of the gods, thrumming with potential yet unrealized. The invocations of hospitality bade it retreat and retract once more. Expend not your might, tool of consequence. Sleep lightly on your master’s belt. Her hand remains near to call.

Vasilia only uncoiled to her full height. The grim focus of battle forgot itself in a disarming smile, as her other hand made the gestures of relevant awe towards the home of a host. “Then. In the name of Zeus and Athena, we gratefully accept your welcome to Baradissar. Receive in joy, remain in warmth, and give a little of the plenty of your home.” His first gift to them; the rites of host to guest. They were etched on the hearts of greatest and least alike. When you visited another in a dream, even there they were the first words on your lips. Were it not for that, there would be no words here. She had no practiced reply to a threat beyond threats. But she had her solid ground, and she could not begin to guess why he’d given it to her.

“May I say, sir,” she continued inoffensively. “That this has been the most gracious welcome we’ve received on our journey to date?” Easy. Light. A dash of humor. A testing of the waters. What more will you give her, fallen Emperor? What will you volunteer freely, and what will you make her fight you for?

Beside her, there was an inconspicuous lack of sheep, and it suited her to keep it that way for a few moments longer.