He was an absolute, emotionally stunted, blind idiot.
Across the carriage, the soul of Mira, the cynical artist who had survived a cold world, the rational reader who understood political maneuvering, was blown to pieces.
'Modify the contract?!' her mind wailed in shock. 'Return me to Myer?! After the blood brand?! After he sat by my bed for three days holding my hand?! After he threatened an Archdemon for looking at me?! He thinks... he thinks I'm a piece of tactical equipment he can mail back to the manufacturer because the weather is getting rough?!'
Her intellect attempted to formulate a rational, cutting response.
She wanted to explain that she wasn't afraid of the fire-Archduke.
She wanted to explain that Julian's Holy Light gave her a headache.
She wanted to deploy a 'verbal riposte' to dismantle his cowardly self-loathing.
But she couldn't.
