"Your father's letters described a dutiful, accomplished young woman with a passion for the darker arts and a temperament suited to the traditions of the Crimson Court. He mentioned your proficiency in blood-lore, your interest in funerary poetry, and your collection of ceremonial daggers."
"My father has a rich imagination. I do not collect daggers. I collect opinions, which are considerably more dangerous and significantly harder to display on a wall. I have no interest in funerary poetry — I prefer the living kind, the sort that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning rather than climb into a coffin. And my proficiency in blood-lore extends exactly as far as knowing that I prefer mine inside my body rather than out of it, which I understand may be a controversial position in your court, but I am willing to defend it."
Another silence. Longer this time. Thicker.
Valerius was gripping the back of a chair so hard the wood was beginning to splinter.
