Septimus swallows, harder than he'd intended to, and slips both rock and medallion back into his desk drawer. A part of him--an old, over-trained part--wants to snap that she is welcome to inquire and then refuse to answer her; a part just as large wants to insist on collecting it now. If that's what he thinks it is, it shouldn't even be here, in this city; it should be at home with Araris and Isana--with the baby. His son. (Or possibly daughter, but it seems unlikely.)

Instead, after a moment, he says by way of the simple explanation, "My father gave it to me when I was a boy." The rest hardly matters. "I-- would appreciate that greatly. Steel, traces of red and blue through the metal and the sheath?"

Just to be sure it's what he thinks it is. Surely someone else must have used the motif at some point, after all.