"Because every few minutes another question appeared." The old man lifted a finger dramatically. "Why did this king start a war?" He raised another. "Why couldn't they simply talk?" A third finger followed. "Why are all history books written by the winners?"
The square around them grew strangely quiet as the old bookseller smiled fondly. "You exhausted me."
Liora couldn't help laughing. "I sound rather troublesome."
"You were," he answered without hesitation. "But you listened." He grew quieter. "Most nobles entered my shop because they wanted knowledge." His gaze softened. "You came because you wanted understanding."
Something stirred quietly inside Liora, not a memory but only recognition, the words feeling strangely familiar, as though somewhere deep inside herself she understood exactly what the old man meant, even if she could no longer remember asking those questions.
