He did not like it. We might as well have been chickens in a box with a weasel. She frowned, stroking a knife set with moonstones thrust behind her sash. As always, the joy of embracing saidar thrilled her, soothing even as it exhilarated.
The first had been bad enough. This time he felt impatient, more so by the step. You think it was chance then, my Lord? What else? She had no answer, but she frowned at the corpses again. A cocky fellow named Charl Gedwyn had charge of them this morning, a hard-faced man who swaggered standing still.
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