A tired smirk gently crossed the assassin's features as she glances at the faerie king as he mentions being "Sam's best friend." She supposed it would be a title to be proud of and she can't help but feel the twinge of jealousy roaming in the depths her soul. Vhalla had no real friends, though she put on a front it didn't bother her, sometimes it would be nice to have that sort of intimacy with another person. Brushing the thought away, she leans back on the bed, her hands out behind her as her head lolls to the side as she inspects the faerie lazily.

When he begins to explain, Vhal arches her brows in surprise, she wasn't certain the man was going to offer her any explanation at all, considering her demanding tone. As he finishes, she clucks a tongue as she rolls through the story Sam told her once more, "Have you seen any of her makers? Or even heard of them returning to the city?" she asks offhandedly, letting a plan formulate in her devious mind like clockwork. It was absurd to the witch that the queen's makers would return for her, perhaps they had gotten whiff of Sam becoming queen and are here to take her power.

Shaking her head gently, she lets the questions prowl through her mind deciding rather suddenly, that the assassin would tear the women limb from limb if she ever came across from them. A roiling rage burns in the pit of her stomach, yet her body is too tired to react to it. Dragging herself to a sitting position once again, a leg crossing over the other as she places on elbow on her thigh, her hand holding her chin. It's such an effort for the witch to move and her shoulders sag with exhaustion but she knows she needs to peel as much information out of Dorian as she can. She wasn't certain she would get another chance like this.

It was Dorian's ignorance at the sarcasm she bitterly bit out at him that has an unamused smile curling at the corner of her lip, looking up at him through icy eyes. "Ah, rash judgements," she trails off musing, a dead chuckle escaping through her lips. She supposed she was the definition of a 'rash judgement'. When he begins offering her how to control her powers, her hand slaps to the bed as she sits up, ramrod straight a bitter laugh escaping her plump lips again. "You?" she asks between the shaking of her shoulders incredulously. She couldn't imagine such an ancient being finding the patience to deal with the volatile assassin.

"Dorian, not that I doubt your abilities to control your own affinity but the last time someone tried to teach me to control my fire, they ended up dead. Incinerated by the blast I put off," she states a dead look entering her eyes. The woman was most certainly not attempting to scare the faerie, she merely stated what had happened in her past experiences. Nothing good had ever come from her abilities. "I am beyond helping and one day I will burn this world to ashes."