“You don’t seem like a farmer,” she said, failing to keep the doubt out of her voice. She still found the idea strange—this mage, notorious for snubbing Conclave and delving in the dark arcana, pursuing a livelihood so mundane and laborious. His eyes widened. Even Gurn paused in drinking his tea. "It's how I keep us fed and this hulk from crumbling around us." Sarcasm sharpened his tongue. "What? Did you think I lounged on my couch all day, reading tomes and muttering incantations while Gurn fed me grapes?” She knew better. Twenty-two years of servitude should have kept her silent, made her
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