Lambert has been mostly quiet up to this point, but the way the conversation’s turned has him raising his head, eyes narrowed. Sure, the Ringmaster does it and it’s fine, but maybe highlighting that she inspired the Queen to do the same isn’t the best idea — not in front of the Queen, anyway. Childermass’s questions may cut to the question of Winter’s succession and his scrying may have revealed what might be the underlying cause of her problems, but he has a much more personal one for her.

“You said you wanted her to stay,” he calls, stepping a little farther ahead of the rest of the Carnival a bit, fingers curling in on themselves. “Did you even ask her? Or did you just assume you didn’t have to?” His voice tries for steady but his tail betrays him, the filaments starting to glow with a light that tries to fight against the cold isolation of this room, instinctively wrapping his friends in the ambient warmth of Creation.

Also, Lambert just really hates the cold, even if he can’t really feel it anymore. He’ll let the rest of them work on figuring out the details, but he reaches out for that sense of a fractured soul and suppressing a flinch at the conflict there. He may have gained the affinity for light and shadow only recently, but he knows something fucked up when he sees it.