Oh she found him infuriating too. Although Glenn had claimed an intent to return, the way Genny saw it was that she had been forced, out of sheer necessity, to rescue her friend from Razasan where he seemed content to rot in exile. Sending dreary letters that chronicled his youth, folly, and failures. It was depressing literature that was heartening at times but primarily gave her cause for concern.
Of course it was nothing like that, or at least, not the whole of the matter. With it’s glittering buildings, court drama, and chic fashion, rotting in Razasan was a welcome fate for a good number of socialites and the noble-ish youths of her childhood. Understanding motivations was part of her job as an Inquisitor, but even then, aspiring to a gilded cage was hard to reconcile. Razasan did have some of the loveliest cages; though none with the proper furnishings, if such worldly objects even existed, to tempt that man. Hence, why she had come knocking at his door unannounced and all but dragged him from the piles of letters and madness. For these reasons it was reasonable to any onlooker that her motivations for embarking on such a journey could be thought of as too drastic and easily misunderstood for something more intimate.
At least in Myrken she could keep an eye on him.
As for how Glenn and the raven’s mistress could talk all night, Genny nodded as her smile returned to a more gentle line, a knowing, agreeing expression that held no exasperation, though it surely could have. She knew well enough what Glenn was like, appreciated it even, but also didn’t seem a bit bothered by the notion of him staying up all night in the company of this woman.
“Sometimes,” was her only reply to the inquiry about her conversations with Glenn, and as it was probably becoming apparent to Benedict, she too had a penchant for talking. Though hers was more a realm of questions.
“Talking suits you well, though I suppose your lady values the listening,” for once in their conversation she had relaxed enough to let free the full thought. She was evaluating him just as much as he was evaluating her. “You do not read,” she was taken aback at the admission. “What if I lacked the capacity; would you merely relay the content verbally?”
Perhaps the lady did not have any illiterate recipients. As far as Genny could tell, this lady, likely the one Gloria had warned her about, had come to know Glenn in Razasan. The same Razasan that was known for it’s haughty elite, it’s masquerades, it’s fine dresses and dining, and wealth. And most of the rich could read and write in one, or several dozen languages.
The thought occurred to her then that if she intended to reply by letter she would need to do so immediately, while Benedict waited, in order for him to take the letter back to his mistress. Daryl was a wonderful messenger, but he wouldn’t know where to find her.
“Am I meant to read your delivery now?” Perhaps he would find her dense for asking a question with such an obvious answer. But missives by messenger could be read over tea and biscuits, reviewed, throughly answered, and sent in reply days later. How on earth was she meant to summon a raven to submit a reply?