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He was Lord of Nothing. Lord of Oath-Breakers. Lord of Liars.
Lord Chaol Westfall was not a man who desired help from people. From anyone.
He had known one other young woman who was gods-blessed. No wonder they both possessed such unbanked fire in their eyes.
So you may look at me with resentment, Yrene Towers, and I will not blame you for it. But believe me when I say that there is no one in Erilea who loathes me more than I do myself.”
Men could unleash storms, too.
“You would be surprised by how closely the healing of physical wounds is tied to the healing of emotional ones.”
He’d been sinking and drowning since. Long before his spine.
It meant butterfly, Yrene told him as they gathered in the palace courtyard three days later. Farasha was anything but.
Nesryn wondered if he knew her heart had been his from that very first ride atop Kadara.
“Keep it a while longer,” he said softly. “I think there’s someone who will want to see that.”
Drifted through seas, through darkness, through fire. A princess of nothing. Nameless.