[ An answer that raises more questions. Curious. Not uncharming, though. Ilias spares a glance up, bright eyed, but decides not to pry just yet. ]

A little of both. With the king's ill health, things are-- unsteady for my family, politically speaking. [ To put it mildly. ] My grandmother, she is worried about assassins.

[ Said with a little flourish of his scalpel. Ridiculous, right? ]

She would prefer me out of the country, and I would prefer to be somewhere I might be of use. So, a compromise.

Disinterest, is more what I suspect she is counting on. [ A lone Fabria far from Nevarra makes for a less attractive target than one entrenched in its political heart. Or: he's not interesting enough to wade through the Inquisition to kill. At least, he doesn't think so.

But he's not unhappy to be here, all told. As for what he's looking for— ]

I am not sure what it will be. The spirit is... [ presently rattling around in its temporary animal corpse like a wasp in a jar? He winces, an amiable flash of teeth. ] Well. It is not supposed to be doing that.

Kostos believes something in the body has distressed it, but Berenike was mummified, mn, perhaps decades ago? If something was done to her, it would be more recent. Perhaps disguised beneath a repair, like this, [ Turning the withered shin in his hand to show the neat row of stitches he's removing, along the split side of a patella. Mummies bump their knees, too. ] Or showing itself in subtler ways, if the source is not so tangible.