"Please just tell her ... I'm sorry she was hurt, and I hope she recovers quickly." replies Kalaya.

It's plain language, as befits the fact that while she knows of Ushua, she doesn't really know the Stag Knight as a person. The surface is one of professional respect, from one Knight to another. That said, you can see other emotions in Kalaya's eyes as she answers you - guilt and insecurity. She really is sorry for the wounds the other woman bears and, although she'd not had any other choice, it won't stop her from re-examining the whole situation again and again, like a blacksmith's puzzle - in the vain hope that there was a less tangled way to solve it.

Accepting the cloak and tea, the Princess-Knight closes the door.

Kalaya remains silent as she turns back to the cabin. Her gaze roaming around the room, noting the (relatively) comfortable furniture, but also the lack of windows.

At least she has her equipment - she'd spent some time going over every item reverently - tightening every strap, buckling every clasp and slotting every piece back into its proper place. The suea pat, tied at the waist, emerald and trimmed with lilies. The leather vest, greaves and vambrances.

The dominion had clearly searched her belongings thoroughly, as evidenced by the fact that [i]everything [/i]is here - from her oilskin cloak and travel bag right down to every last piece of copper in her coin pouch. It was hard not to read a message into all of this.

[i]That may have been the point.[/i] she thinks, glumly, looking down at the tea and recognising the scent as her customary favourite.

[i]How long has the Dominion been spying to know that?[/i]

She was out of the brig, but very much still at the bottom of the well.

She could almost, [i]almost [/i]accept that they had benign motives here. But she'd seen that glimpse in Cathak's eyes - the Kingdoms were just a bauble to her, one to be added to a horde and looked at occasionally. Not cherished, nurtured and celebrated for what it was. The Dominion might be playing nicely now, but she'd have to be ready for the inevitable turn.

Sitting cross legged on the ground, she stares up to the ceiling and beyond.

Her words are a breath on the cup to cool the tea.

[i]I am conscious of peace.
The calm breath of heaven rises in my sleeves.
And blows my cares away.[/i]

Three sips to drink it to the dregs. One swirl clockwise in between, then counter, then clockwise again.

Raise it to the sky. Then upend it on the saucer. A final benediction to Bright Rose and then ... she lifts the cup. 

Hoping some kind of sign will greet her.