[If he didn't understand the value of secrets as intimately as he does, or maybe just if he were more concerned about commiserating regardless of cost, he'd acknowledge that no, Rynlan isn't better than it, actually, and he knows it. That a significant part of his silence over the past eight bells had been spent inwardly weighing the costs. Fighting his own instincts against the reality of what such a sacrifice would do, of pitting adherence to his own honor against knowing full well that given the choice, Ryn would sooner die before him.

And maybe it would've come to that. Maybe Scaramouche would've gotten away with it, and they'd condemned an innocent man, and he would've blinked awake on execution island on a stage instead of in the audience, because that's just the sort of cruel way these things tend to go.

He breathes out slowly, and it shakes. He doesn't usually have the better part of a day to sit on a knife's edge contemplating the ramifications of his own imminent demise. It's stressful, to say the least — as much from awareness of the fallout it would've created as how it would actually feel to die.]

He asked me something, a few days back. That if we were all to find our way out of this somehow, if I would consider traveling to your galaxy for a time. To see if you had the means to extend my lifespan.

[Which. Does sort of implicate his knowledge of Ryn's feelings on the subject, even if he's not going to come right out and say them.]

I find it passing strange that we so rarely see anyone defending each other at these trials. We're all quick to condemn. Draw even the slightest hint of suspicion, and...

[He shrugs again.]

I could lose him and live on. I'm getting damned good at bearing the bitter taste of failing the people I care for. It's the standing by and doing nothing that I couldn't abide. That's the part I'd find unforgivable.