Very little could be said that would encourage him. Yet, somehow, Lillian found one of the precious few things that could have--and did. The lines of tension around his eyes lightened, and the distant, guarded look became present and genuine. Ordhan looked at her for one quiet moment, the depth of what her statement meant to him shown even in his unexpressive face. She may have meant it different than he had taken it, but that she would notice a change and seem to approve meant more than all the accolades the nobility had to offer.
He could make no promise, not really, bound by whatever evidence may arise and his own devotion--but if there really was truth to her convictions, he knew that surrendering an innocent to take a murderer's place would be as damnable as anything he had ever done, or failed to do.
The knight lowered his eyes, gathering the stacked bowls and tools used to clean them in the uppermost dishes. "I was given orders," he began quietly, "to report to the Arlessa whenever able to send a message. I ought to tell her of Azabeth." He hesitated, well aware of the magnitude of what he was on the brink of saying. A muscle in his jaw tightened, but he pressed forward, though quieter than before. "I will wait."