Listening to him speak in this quiet tone was all too easy, even when he still looked displeased. She wondered at that ease. Perhaps it was his honesty. The pricks and sharp edges of his character didn't bother as much as they probably should have. Instead, Vera was envisioning him writing out long strings of numbers at a desk with a book open, hidden on his lap. Dreaming of other work he could be doing, other lands he could be visiting. It reminded her of herself, sitting on the ledge of High Lord Gavrie's unfinished solar and breathing in snowflakes, pretending she was atop of a mountain instead of late to a tutoring session where she'd be beaten into the floor again.
"If I was ever caught with such books as a child I'd have the bruises to show every argument about reading them," Vera said. She smiled, though the thought was not a happy one. "You sound like someone I know -- a very wise and stubborn man that has tried to encourage me in reading fiction and fantasy. But I don't think I would know what to do with these books. There are more tangible things I can not do or can not have..."
Her grip on the agriculture book in her arms loosened enough that it was now leaned against her chest. Vera still wondered if he'd turn heel and leave. Those angry lines remained on Eragos' face, ones that seemed etched on his young face as if he had already been angry too many times. Realizing that she was watching him too closely, Vera looked away and was quiet for a moment. She even had the grace to let her cheeks redden slightly, which was as absurd as it was embarrassing.
"There are flying gardens, you know. In Agethlea."