Xyries stands in front of another chair.  She looks at Reuken, and her eyes are flat and dark in her pale face.  She says nothing.

Xymorel straightens, moving her hand from Leon's shoulder to his chair.  Her eyes flicker between her sister and Arachan with something like horror.

"Xyries?"

"The accusation is just," Xyries says.

"B-but the girl is alive now," Xymorel says.  "Isn't she?"

"Yes," Xyries says.  "I raised her."

"Then why k-kill him?"

Xyries turns to look at her sister.  Her voice is not loud, but the tone is acid.

"Do you believe this is a good man, daughter of the line of Trannyth?" She gestures at Reuken.

"N-no," Xymorel says frankly.  "He t-terrifies me." She shivers as she looks at him now, at the hard, proud face and the cold yellow eyes.  "But he is a p-powerful fighter, and he wishes also to d-destroy the Banelord.  Can you spare such an ally?"

It takes every iota of Xymorel's strength not to flinch from the venom in the lich's voice.  She still remembers his face at the Open Palm Inn, some nights.  They are not good ones.  But Xymorel does not want to see a thinking being's death tonight, not for her own sake, not for Leon's, who still sits slumped in his chair.

She looks Xyries in the eye, firming her tone by a tremendous effort of will.

"Can you watch one d-die whom you have healed - cleric?"

This blow strikes true.  Xyries stiffens visibly.  Her gaze drops away from Xymorel's.

"You know that I cannot," she says.  She raises her head, expression blank again.  "Arachan, I withold my permission.  you will not attempt to kill Reuken while he is within my home."

Leon looks daggers at Arachan, "Who is helping who, exactly? Bloody necro Banelord is much higher on my list than you of *censored* necros from the war that the world would be better off without. But if you wish to come, so be it. Just need to find where the bloody necro is cowering."

Xyries does not attempt to argue with Arachan, nor does she return Xymorel's startled glance.  The concept of Arachan expressing concern for her well-being is still entirely alien, Xymorel thinks; she does not entirely believe in it.

"But how do you know this?" Xyries asks.

"You remember the girl you helped, I hope? She has served him. She has given me her estimation of his strength, and is bound to know a good deal more. I am certain she will tell me everything she knows about him. She is rather eager to serve; I fear she has known little else."