Jone opens her mouth to disagree, but cannot find the words. Surely he knows better, and even if he does not, she will not make a scene from argument. She packs the food away, tossing the rations to a nearby beggar. She takes them with thanks, and she makes the Videreyn gesture for silence. Her compliance is enough.

"Let me order, at least," Jone says, walking by his side. "It's traditional."

Her smile says she might be teasing him. She isn't, but that's for him to decide. How well can he read her? She feels like an open book.