“Who knows the inner turnings of your name, Cinder?” The words were spoken with a slow patience, like a schoolmaster reciting a forgotten lesson. Cinder wrapped shaking arms around his midsection and hunched over, closing his eyes. “You, Lord Haliax.” “Who keeps you safe from the Amyr? The singers? The Sithe? From all that would harm you in the world?” Haliax asked with calm politeness, as if genuinely curious as to what the answer might be. “You, Lord Haliax.” Cinder’s voice was a quiet shred of pain. “And whose purpose do you serve?” “Your purpose, Lord Haliax.” The words were choked out.
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