Normally, Basil would have relented.
He had seen the way Jarza's jaw tightened and any sensible lad would have backed away. But there was no one else. The silence of the night was still echoing in his ears, and the fear that mingled with curiosity, same cardinal sin of his father, was a cold weight in his gut that wouldn't shift.
But above all he was his Alpheo's son, so, when a door was locked, he didn't turn back, he started looking for the hinges.
He adjusted his seat in the saddle, schooling his face into a mask of innocent disappointment.
"I see. That is indeed regrettable," Basil said, letting a heavy sigh escape. He slumped his shoulders, staring down at his horse's mane with a downcast look. "I only wished to know more about you, Uncle. Father always speaks so highly of your history, and I'd hoped to hear a few stories of the land that made you.But I understand...."
