"I suspect she stalled as a negotiation tactic," Vargis announced. "She wanted to test how much etiquette she could fracture. It was a small thing. Orill's quick reaction was no doubt defensiveness on his part. That tells her, at the very least, that they are quick to take offense. That could be a useful tool for her."
"All of that," Eragos muttered darkly. "From a greeting..."
"You folk are all tricksome."
There was no longer any laughter in Vargis' voice. You folk, he'd said. Eragos supposed that was accurate, after a fashion. Becoming Lord Feareborne was recognition of his land ownership and his large group of employees-turned-landworkers. He was responsible for their protection, but it did not imbue any sense of nobility in him. Nor did they feel particularly subjugated. It was a handful of acres policed by retired White Riders and soldiers who were honorable, fair and appreciated a supplement to their income.
Being a 'lord' did not require an attitude, merely a set of legal requisites that Eragos had met. Being a 'lord' made other legal arrangements easier, so it seemed the obvious thing to do, even if it earned him mockery from one of his oldest friends.
"Political niceties are similar to any other tool," Eragos did not look up from his letter. "They can be used for good or ill."
"Or not at all, if your name is Feareborne," Vargis chuckled. "Anyway, girl, your impression is partly right. That woman has no regard for rules that get in the way of her profit. I will guarantee you that."