Shaking his head, Silas drummed his fingers on his leg and looked up at the ceiling, contemplating all of that. "It's not the act itself that bothers me. As long as you're all right and the hand was, in fact, wax, I'm not worried about him visiting you on your birthday. I'm more concerned with the fact that he was in this Castle and no one realized it except those who were visited." Unless, of course, someone simply didn't think he needed to know that the supposedly dead-or-missing ex-King of Spades was in his Castle, wandering as he pleased.

Regardless, he needed to let it go, focus on dealing with it and adapting to it. "If there are any developments on the matter, I'd like an immediate alert. Beyond that, well, has he mentioned anything about where he was for six months, or what he was doing?" Not that it was likely to be useful information, but none of the rumors that had circulated seemed very plausible, considering just who the man was.

Still, he'd like to know one way or the other, if only to consolidate in his mind just what had become of the man he'd once called friend, the man with whom he'd danced at Isaac's wedding. It seemed so long ago now, and that man was hardly more than a shadow of a memory nearly forgotten.

Nothing made a man feel older than memory.