She nodded. The motion was small. Tight. The nod of a woman who had spent years collecting pieces and had already assembled the puzzle.
"Of course I have," she said. "I have spent fifteen years gathering intelligence. I know about the conspiracy. I know about the noble houses involved. I know about the betrayal. I know about the poison. I know..."
"You have the information regarding the events," Viktor interrupted. "But do you have the information regarding the reality behind those men? Their actual identities? The men who molested your mother?"
Johana lifted her head. Her eyes, pink and gray, met his. The tears, still wet on her cheeks, glistened.
"It does not matter," she said. The words were firm. The wall, built over years, was there. "They are dead. Or scattered. Or irrelevant. The information I have is sufficient."
Viktor chuckled. The sound was low. Warm. The chuckle of a man who had just been told the sky was green and found the assertion charming.
