Is this why you came here, Lady Queen? For permission to knead bread?” Bitterblue sat on the end of Madlen’s bed, beside a mountain of blankets, papers, and clothing. “No,” she said. “I thought not.” She practiced the words in her mind before speaking them aloud, worried that they might prove she was mad. “Madlen. Would a person ever cut himself,” she said, “on purpose?” Madlen stilled her rummaging hands and peered at Bitterblue. Then she shoved the mountain of things on the bed aside with one powerful arm and sat beside her. “Are you asking for yourself, Lady Queen, or someone else?” “You
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