“What?” she says, clearly confused.
“I ask questions. You give answers.” I nod, satisfied with my grasp of the concept.
She stares at me. “That’s... not really how conversation works.”
I frown. This is already more complicated than Romulus made it sound. “It is not?”
“No, it’s supposed to be more natural. Back and forth. Like...” She waves her hands around. “Like when you asked what I was doing when you came in.”
“I demanded you answer me.”
“Right, but that’s not conversation either. That’s just ordering me around.”
My frown deepens. “Then what is conversation?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Then she opens it again. “It’s... when two people talk to each other. About things they’re both interested in. Or when they want to know about each other.”
I nod slowly, though I’m not entirely certain I understand. “Very well. What are you interested in?”
“That’s better!” she says, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I’m interested in art. And books. And... well, right now I’m interested in why this castle is so dirty and what’s making those screaming sounds downstairs.”
I growl automatically. “You may not know about the dungeons.”
“See? You’re doing it again!” She throws her hands up. “I ask about something I’m interested in, and you just shut me down.”
“Because it is not safe for you to know such things.”
“Then talk about something else! Ask me about the art or the books!”
I struggle for a moment. Art? Books? These are not subjects I know anything about. “What... is art?”
She blinks at me like I’ve asked what water is. “You don’t know what art is?”
“I know it exists, but I do not know what it does.”
“It doesn’t... do anything. Not really. It’s beautiful. It makes people feel things.”
I consider this. “Like how your body makes me feel things?”
Her cheeks go red again. “That’s... not the same thing. Art is... it’s painting and sculpture and music and...”
“Music,” I interrupt, latching onto something familiar. “My consort makes music. You sing.”
“Yes! Exactly. That’s music.”
“And this pleases you.”
“Very much.”
I nod, feeling somewhat successful. “And books?”
“Stories. Information. Ways to learn about the world and about other people’s lives.”
“Ah.” I have no idea what to say about this.
An awkward silence stretches between us.
“This is harder than my brother suggested,” I finally admit.
