The Incantatrix Immacolata had come here to fulfill a promise she’d made before the Fugue had been hidden: that, if she could not rule the Seerkind, she’d destroy them. She was Lilith’s descendant, she’d always claimed: the last pure line from the first state of magic. Her authority over them was therefore unquestionable. They’d laughed at her for her presumption. It wasn’t their nature to be ruled, nor to count much on genealogy. Immacolata had been humiliated; a fact a woman like her — possessed, it had to be admitted, of powers that were purer than most — would not easily forget. Now she’d
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