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232 pages, Paperback
First published December 12, 2018



“Miss Highwater!“ the Man called over his shoulder. “There is a peasant girl
In my washroom!“
“What does she want?“ a feminine voice called from the other room.
“She bas stabbed me with what appears to be an ice pick!“ The man shoved Tacenda back into the washroom, then yanked the pick out. The length glistened with his blood. “A rusty ice pick!“
“Nice!“ the voice called. “Ask her how much I owe her!“
"They were all so certain that secretly he was some kind of unnatural monster–rather than just a man, the most natural monster of them all."
“Hellfire,” he muttered. “Someone’s been imitating me.”
“A difficult task,” Miss Highwater said. “Think of the sheer number of naps they’d have to take.”
Davriel eyed her.
“Admit it, Dav,” she said. “It would require a true master of imitation to impersonate you. Most people would accidentally do something relevant or useful, and that would destroy the entire illusion.”
“You have to help them,” she said. “You are their lord.”
Davriel shrugged.
“If you don’t,” Tacenda said. “I will...I...”
“I’m amused to hear this threat.”
“I will see that you never get to take another nap.”
“You’ll find that I...” He trailed off. “What?”
“You lied to me, Merlinde,” Davriel said softly. “You have kept terrible secrets from me.”
“I...”
He held up the tea. “I found an entire tin of Verlasen dustwillow in your cupboard,” he said. “I expect you to explain yourself posthaste.”
She frowned.
"Perhaps we were all created for a specific purpose, but that doesn’t prevent us from finding other purposes as well.”
