“This space map—” “It is called an orrery.” “This orrery.” Bryce approached the male’s side. “It’s tech—not magic?” “Can it not be both?” Bryce’s fingers curled into fists. But she said, a murky memory rippling from her childhood, “The Autumn King has one in his private study.” The Astronomer clicked his tongue. “Yes, and a fine one at that. Made by craftsmen in Avallen long ago. I haven’t had the privilege to see it, but I hear it is as precise as mine, if not more so.” “What’s the point of it?” she asked. “Only one who does not feel the need to peer into the cosmos would ask such a thing.
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