Immediately upon recognizing him, Sylvanni felt an immediate surge of simmering, molten rage.
She knew she probably shouldn't have. For one, she could see that he was in a terrible state. Splotches of dark navy and violet marred his skin in deep bruises. His skin was pallid, eyes sunken. Even the glow seemed to have dimmed from them, and from his feeble movements, he'd obviously suffered grave mistreatment during his captivity.
If she were a kinder person, perhaps she would have set their history aside enough to pity him. But the pettier side of her said that she'd tried to be the bigger person last time, she'd seen how that turned out.
Let him be the one to try to make nice first this time. She was entitled to her anger and she planned on keeping it.
For the moment, she considered it was probably a good thing there was a solid layer of concrete and rebar between the two of them. For his sake.
Her shock and fury kept her in stunned silence long enough for him to push himself into a sitting lean against the wall and get the first word.
"Lady Fortune has a terrible sense of humor," he said, with a voice surprisingly steady for how weak he looked.
"I don't believe there's anything fortunate about this situation," Sylvanni bit back. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I suspect. Being held captive, suffering whatever tortures the House of Kings can come up with, general suffering."
She slowly shook her head, tone turning vicious. "You know? If you were anyone else, I'd feel bad for you. In the hands of your enemies, enduring abuses, no hope of rescue because everyone who could possibly care about you believes you're dead. And yet, that situation is directly your fault. As far as I'm concerned, you deserve whatever they do to you."
His eyes narrowed. "Uncharacteristically cruel of you, Guardian."
"As though you actually know anything of my character." She scoffed. "You probably don't even remember my name."
She turned away, boiling with frustration and convinced that speaking with him further would only make it worse. Truly, to be locked up with Uldren Sov of all people… Some paracausal entity must have been in control of her life, seeking new ways to torment her. Perhaps this was all a simulation, and she was actually at the mercy of some sadistic Vex mind, playing games with her. The idea that random, entropic, chaotic reality would have conceived such a turn of events was too difficult to believe.
"Sylvanni Duv." The name was softly spoken; she almost believed she hadn't truly heard it. "I'm not in the habit of forgetting those who save my life."
She turned back, glaring death at him through the broken opening. "Well, I'm not in the habit of forgetting those who take mine."
"Is that what you're upset about?" He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Dying is what your kind does. It's not like you were actually harmed. Does it really count as killing you if you're standing here now, talking to me?"
"Yes! Of course it does!" She gripped the rusted bars, pressing her face close to them. There was no arc grid between the cells, just over the doors to the outside, so she didn't need to worry about being shocked. "You rammed a knife into my neck, sabotaged my Ghost, and took my Sparrow! I went out of my way to help you when you were stranded in the middle of the desert. I fought at your side to protect you against the Vex. And perhaps most difficult of all, I tried to be polite to you despite the fact that you might just be the most self-absorbed, literally-backstabbing asshole to ever draw breath."
"Oh, don't hold back on my account," he drawled, seeming to actually enjoy her outburst. "Tell me how you really feel."
She expelled a tense, controlled breath, stepping away. "Truly, the Fallen are masters of torture, if they were cruel enough to put me in a cell beside yours." She mimed as though she were calling down the hallway, though she didn't actually raise her voice enough to carry. "Wait, come back! I'll tell you anything you want to know, but for the love of the Traveler, I can't take anymore!"
He settled back against the wall. "Something tells me you'll be less snide about the torture once it actually starts."
Something in the weight of his words sobered her, somewhat. Letting herself get lost in her enmity with the prince, it was easy to forget where they were and the dire nature of their situation. He had been tortured at the Fallen's hands, and he was right: in all likelihood, the same fate awaited her soon.
She retreated to the other side of her cell, sitting so that she could no longer see Uldren. If she was being honest with herself, the bickering had been a distraction, a way to forget the larger issues for a few minutes. But she couldn't ignore them forever. She had no resources, no allies, and almost no hope of rescue either. At least the Vanguard might send someone after her if she disappeared, but the likelihood of them actually finding her was slim.
This time, she broke the silence, surprising herself. "Did you know there were other members of House Judgment?" She hadn't intended to say anything further, but the query slipped free.
"No, we didn't," he answered after a long pause. "Variks believed he was the last. Meeting Erxaris was certainly a surprise."
Perhaps conversation was better this way, when they couldn't see each other. Easier to keep civil.
"Erxaris?"
"The House Judgment representative. I heard you speaking with her when I came to."
She'd guessed who the name referred to from his context; her question had been more an expression of surprise that Uldren knew the Vandal by name.
"What do they want from us?" Her words were soft, meant to be more rhetorical than actual, but Uldren answered anyway.
"They've pressed me for information. Interrogations and intimidations, mostly, asking about the Reef, about defenses, about our prisoners and our fleet. I haven't exactly cooperated, which seems to make them a tad perturbed. Perhaps they hope to interrogate you about the Tower and the Traveler, Guardian."
Sylvanni didn't respond to that, mulling his words over silently. It was a plausible enough reason, she supposed, but something about it didn't sit right with her. The Vandal, this Erxaris,had spoken of punishment, an answering of crimes.
She had a sinking feeling that whatever was in store for her, it would be something worse entirely.