Cazaril hesitated. “Do you know that you are lit like a burning torch?” The groom inclined his head. “So I have been told, my lord, by the few with eyes to see. One can never see oneself, alas. No mundane mirror reflects this. Only the eyes of a soul.” “There was a woman inside who glowed like a green candle.” “Mother Clara? Yes, she just spoke to me of you. She is a most excellent midwife.” “What is that, that anti-light, then?” Cazaril glanced toward where the women lingered. Umegat touched his lips. “Not here, if you please, my lord.” Cazaril’s mouth formed a silent Oh. He nodded. The
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