“The Sons of Ivaldi may not have been judged the best craftsmen in the Nine Worlds — although I still dispute this — but they are undoubtedly the finest goldsmiths I’ve ever seen, as I’m sure you’d agree, if you’d seen their work.
“Well,” I began, helping myself to a grape. “The Sons of Ivaldi may not have been judged the best craftsmen in the Nine Worlds—although I still dispute this—but they are undoubtedly the finest goldsmiths I’ve ever seen, as I’m sure you’d agree, if you’d seen their work. I’m talking about gold, Freyja. Necklaces, bracelets, the lot—shining like scraps of sunlight. And there was one particular piece—a necklace like you’ve never seen. A choker, broad as the length of your thumb, made up of links so delicately crafted that it might almost be a living thing, moulded to every curve of your neck, gleaming, reflecting, perfecting—” Freyja gave me a sharp look.
“Perfecting?”
“Sorry. My mistake. Of course. My lady, you’re perfect already.”
