It wasn't like the stories that people enjoyed passing around the Castel. Agrippa's face didn't go red, smoke didn't pour from his mouth, there wasn't instantaneous yelling, he didn't shy his paperweight at the wall and leap up from his desk. For a moment he just sat there, taking a long pull of whiskey. He set the mostly empty glass down, twisting it once in his fingers when he was finished. The Captain leaned back in his chair, his hands tracing the edge of the desk. It was then that it became noticeable -- the black expression that crept across his face. Something like thunder and grief.
Agrippa was never a fan of Eithne Savastian. Everyone thought it was her background, her obnoxious and foul mouth that set him off. It wasn't. The truth was, he'd seen worse molds for Riders in his time that had done a better job than she did. That was what bothered him. Agrippa hadn't let Feareborne haul her about as a student because they were both hotheaded fools. He'd done it because he hoped...he thought a man like that might beat some honor into her. That she might be made to think.
Instead she had become a waste.
Murder just wasn't something that Agrippa forgave. He couldn't. This wasn't a botched mission, a bloody bar scene. Savastian had crossed into completely new territory. Slitting the throat of a prisoner was the sin of lesser men, men that didn't wear a hood and mask in honor of the Free Cities' citizenry.
"So explain to me," he said, slowly. "Why she's still in Agethlea. I'm assuming it's not to stand trial."
The statement could have been said with a laugh, if Agrippa were in a laughing mood.