He rises and dusts himself off as Rosinante speaks. There are places in Hieron with no sun to speak of, he thinks. Somewhere deep within the twisted, broken remains of the Rhizome, in the deepest pits of Adularia. That is closer to home than here. And the Queen would be there, and Hella Varal with her. And Hella would tell Hadrian to meet him there sometimes, and then...

And then. Ephrim shakes his head once, firmly. There is no "and then".

"It's a kind thing to say, Rosinante." Ephrim doesn't look at him as he says it, stoops down to take his cup up by its rim. It's not an accusatory tone, and Ephrim is careful not to make it so. If anything, it's more like a quiet warning. Or a question. "One might say too kind. The sort of kindness that may falter in the face of impossible decisions."