Vayne crossed the threshold of the inn where Larsa was staying. He suspected his brother was still less than pleased by these arrangements, but with good hope would eventually come to accept it. Vayne did not wish to turn the matter into a confrontation, however, he had no intention of accommodating the younger Solidor if he intended to play the wounded martyr or sulky child. Common for the age, unbecoming to his lineage.

Just inside the entrance he stood, shoulders squared, a practical fine sculpture waiting.