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"I do not recall seeing that before," Drace says quietly, and Larsa's fingers drift to the ring he now wears, although he manages not to look guilty. He has no reason for guilt, but he cannot help himself and touching the ring will not ease Drace's mind. She does not approve of him receiving gifts because of the magics some of them contain, and usually Larsa obeys her instruction to at least let her inspect them first. In this case however -
"It was a gift from my lord brother," Larsa says, finally settling for clasping his hands behind his back. His tone is mild and firm in the way his brother's is when he is about to be stubborn, which he can only hope is as effective for him.
It is impossible to tell a Judge's expression; the law has no face in Archades and a Judge's helm makes that so. But Drace has cared for Larsa for as long as he can remember, and he has learnt her postural equivalents. The muted clinking of her armour resettling means he has surprised her; the parade rest stance means he has troubled her. "A tourmaline ring," she murmurs, the words echoing in her helmet as though she intended them to remain there. "Does he believe - of course." She reaches out with one armoured hand - Larsa raises his chin, awaiting the instruction to hand her the ring - and rests on Larsa's shoulder. He nearly falls over from shock when all she says is "Your brother is wise when it comes to your welfare. Wear it."
That, Larsa realises eventually, is probably the kindest thing Drace has ever said about his brother.