The Shadow and The Huntress

Faelyn's bearing was one made of steel, a strong, tempered thing in the heat of his own fire, and the fire of others long, long ago. He knew very well what Avorra was, what her purpose her words served; And if the weight of an unafflicted gaze as it settled upon her was anything to go by, he saw through it all. He was cutting and precise, and while he himself allowed next to no one within the walls of his emotion and his mind, centuries of careful study of others and their mannerisms might as well have opened this woman, this child, like a book to him. 

But still, she had done exactly what he had asked of her. And he hated it. 

You have brought yourself to another crossroads, lost little duck. If you can continue to place nicely with the others, you will be allowed to remain within my halls. You will be granted the knowledge within as that is my job. And when you are done, you will be escorted from Arlathan to seek your shelter elsewhere. If you choose to remain within our home beyond such escorting, I will deliver you to the council myself with no hesitation. And if you, or your false god, deign to lift a finger of harm to anyone within my city, or my repository, I will make you wish for something quite so sweet as my flame. Do we understand each other? There was no move made to walk towards her, no getting on her level. His words were not a threat, and did not need to be driven home as such. 

They were a promise.