Amaranthe sank into a crouch and buried her face in her knees. She closed her eyes, willing the thing to go away. A drop of hot saliva hit the back of her neck. Time seeped by like molasses. The footsteps finally started up again. They padded away and moved beyond the range of her ears. For several long moments, she and Sicarius hunkered there, between the wall and the ice. The cold bit through Amaranthe’s night clothes. Her teeth chattered and she shivered. She held her hands close to the lantern, but it gave off little heat. “Is it gone?” she asked. “Impossible to tell,” he said. “Well, I’m
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