Patiently, Malachi observed the child's face, and the way he glanced between the candles and the priest himself. Weighing his options, he supposed. He wondered if this Bram Ward expected punishment, if that was the risk he had to weigh before he had reached for the candles; if it was so routine that the consequences no longer mattered.

Malachi hummed, nodding once. Looking back to the altar, he said, "yes, you're right. I can look after the others."

Setting the broken candles aside, he grabbed two of the undamaged and held them out to the boy. Still warm, but not enough to burn.

"Could you take care of these ones for me, Mister Ward?"