“Is that the way to speak to someone who bears your ancestor’s hands?” “His . . . hands?” Wax said. “Are you speaking metaphorically?” “Ah, no,” VenDell said. “Breeze did say I could have them after he died. Excellent metacarpals. I bring them out for special occasions.” Wax stood still for a moment, holding the book in his hand, trying to digest what the kandra had just said. His ancestor, the first Lord Ladrian, Counselor of Gods . . . had given this creature his hands. In a way, Wax had shaken hands with Breeze’s corpse.
