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The Poisoner pressed on, worn, feeling each of her thirty years, her range-coat shredded in places, the tatters dancing to please the wind.
She was fearless, fierce, and quicker than thinking,
‘There are some lessons that must be written in scars.’
By the week’s end she had found three possible candidates from antiquity, all of whom had something in their story that would offend Mistress Spirit.
In Academia Sister Rail made a spirited attempt to bore the class to death with mathematics.
beside Kettle. ‘Well spoken, sister.’ Kettle shook her head. ‘A parent’s grief runs deeper than words can reach, novice. We speak them to help ourselves.’
She’s allergic to being adored.’
Kettle nodded. ‘If Sherzal has an ear in Sweet Mercy I’ll cut it off.’
Kettle smiled, a hint of the mischievous novice who had once dusted Sister Wheel’s habit with a sneezing powder so powerful that the nun had blown her own headdress off.
Inquisitor Pelter slid his narrow voice into another gap,
Abbess Glass waved to Sister Tallow, letting her go, there would be a class of girls wanting instruction on how better to beat each other senseless.
She ground her teeth against the drugs, their poison rising through her like nausea. ‘I’ll kill them. Every last one.’ That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said. Keot’s voice followed her into the muffling blackness. Perhaps ever.
Although there was no hint of a smile Nona suspected that she might have witnessed Zole’s first joke.
She rolled, kicking the Lightless she had tripped. The blow landed between his legs while still rising, and he lost all interest in continuing to get up.
Agika put a thin smile on lips unaccustomed to the burden.
‘Murder the wrong man and he’ll kill you.’
time had run out on them and they were chasing it.
