Matrim Cauthon made an onion look like an apple! She rubbed a hand over her head. She still was not accustomed to the feel of hair on her head. “I will need a razor first thing.” “It may be best to wait until Ebou Dar, High Lady.” “No,” she said gently. “If I die, I will die as who I am. I have removed the veil.” “As you say, Highness.” Smiling, he saluted, gauntleted fist striking over his heart hard enough that steel clanged on steel. “If we die, we will die as who we are.”
