09/02/2026 00:33

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Ba'alzamon still stood there, and the great darkness still hung behind him, but it was as if all the rest had been illusion. He needs something to take his mind off his own troubles. But I am following the trail. Her own eyes were strained, now, and there was a new tightness to her mouth.

Fain ignored all of it - he had no fear of turning his back on them, not since they had seen the Fade dealt with - and went to his prize. She lifted the instrument and traced the flowing silver script, in the Old Tongue, inlaid around the flaring mouth. She is, Marin. Cuale was polishing a silver tray as if his life depended on its gleam.