Isabelle raised her spark-hand to make a point. “It gets worse. My most famous ancestor is Primus Maximus, and not only did he have an overpowering personality, but all of his descendants thought of themselves as his rightful successors. They immersed themselves in his memory, absorbed him down to the bone, so there’s almost no one back in the menagerie who hasn’t been marinated in Maximus, and it’s a flavor I don’t particularly want running through my own mind. I finally begin to understand why Fenice vendettas are so thorough: because each new generation is subject to the will and the wants of the previous one.”

“So you run the risk of becoming one of those crazy old people who stands in the forum yelling at the youth about how things were better in the old days.”

“I can think of no worse fate,” Isabelle said.

“I don’t suppose you can just ignore them—your ancestors, that is.”

“I don’t know,” Isabelle said. “I survived my transformation, but I was still damaged, and I may never heal completely. They can still force themselves into my thoughts at least enough that I can hear them muttering, and the ghost stains haven’t stopped entirely. I don’t know if rejecting them will make them weaker or stronger. I feel like I have been brought to a banquet where all the food is poisoned.”

“Maybe you can nibble at the edge of the feast,” Bitterlich said. “The smallest possible doses, build up an immunity to their horseshit.”

Isabelle gave him a doubting look. “I’m not sure the metaphor extends that way.”

“Maybe not,” he said, “but you’re not helpless to change your own mind either. If they try to make you cruel, you can practice being kind. Maybe you can even change them. Who says this is a one-way ratchet?”

Isabelle tilted her head at him and one corner of her mouth curved up. “You give me hope, Major. That’s a precious gift.”

Bitterlich doffed his hat and said, “Thank you, Capitaine.” He hesitated. This was not the right time to apologize to her, or unburden himself. She didn’t need any more burdens.

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Isabelle said. Her expression was open and inviting.

If this was a bad time to apologize, it was also true that there would never be a better time. It would never be the case that Isabelle didn’t have a hundred things on her mind.

“I…” Bitterlich said. “I just wanted … I need to apologize.”

Isabelle looked perplexed. “What for?”