"If her actions required it," Gloria said from her chair, where she was suddenly so terribly small, "I'd never expect you to shatter her trust, Ailova. That she does trust you speaks multitudes for -- for her capacity to do so. We know she can, that -- that there are veils--" she knocked a knuckle against her temple, "--that keep her from extending that trust to anyone else. But if a time comes that we discover her to be completely irreparable?"
As if they're talking about an uneven bit of furniture, or a sword broken in the midst of battle--
"I would do the thing for us."
Sometimes it was very easy to play at being absent of heart, especially without mirror-glass around.
"But what it would be better to contemplate is -- is how we can effectively aid her. How we keep her from killing without killing her. That requires a finesse of which I'm ruefully incapable. I'll help where I can; I'll muster as much patience as I can possibly afford. But that's why I think this is the best place to be: if anyone is capable of precision, overthought, analysis, and solution, it's Glenn Burnie."
The world might have shattered apart in that moment, for what she offered to Glenn Burnie from across the room was the closest semblance of a concord or agreement they'd ever forged: the young woman smiled, inclined her head, all the physical evidence of her recognition of his prowess. No challenge, no debate. Gloria Wynsee had come to this place because she needed something; she'd brought Ailova because the brignad, too, needed; and Glenn, he'd agreed to meet because this cause -- a broken bird to be mended -- was something he too needed, even if he would never admit it.
"We're people first," she said to her brandy.