On our first visit to Colchis, the governor-general had been a tall, icy woman with white-gold hair and pale eyes. I do not remember her name. But she was gone—dead, I felt sure, another casualty of Ever-Fleeting Time. In her place sat a broad-shouldered, yellow-bearded man dressed in the white suit and red sash of his rank, rings on his fingers like a petty impersonation of the Emperor himself.
Concise writing
