Whatever else is happening, the twin priests of the Healer walk together with the smooth ease of long practice.

Lashan herself is dressed a bit more formally than before. Not on the level of the priests, the cut of her clothing isn't so different from yesterday and she hasn't donned any jewelry more elaborate than black iron earrings, but her tunic is a deep red and supports panels stiff with embroidery. Some of the same symbols recur as on the priests. The faded, angry eyes and the up-pointed tusks of the tattoo on her chest peek above her low collar.

"That's something for the Sisterhood to know," she says coolly. "And trusted allies. Here's a question for you, boy." Lashan returns to the bed where she had been sitting, where she's bundled up her near-white cloak. That is a status symbol; in this world, where bleaching is mainly possible through laborious effort with lye and acid baths or through leaving fabric out in the sun, it's hard to get white cloth and harder to keep it white. This... isn't quite there but it's quite pale.

She unrolls it and lays a hand over the sheathed sword that it had been wrapped around. "Care to tell me how you got this?"

Vena, still near the door, makes a tiny noise and has gone as rigid as a board. Her face is an admission of guilt, not that Lashan looks at her.