Here, on the other hand, was a thing that could not be considered good, no matter how you tilted the prism. Something had happened to Bezi Duras. Some violence. Somebody—or something—had hurt her horribly. Horribly enough to leave massive purple wounds. These wounds were kept hidden, a secret known only to Bezi herself. And by showing up at the wrong place at the wrong time, I had robbed her of her solitude in that secret. Worse still: Bezi Duras hadn’t seen me. She had no idea, as she knotted her hair and leaned toward her mirror, that not fifteen feet below her the girl gathering up bucket
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