Her head snapped round, and she stared into his face, seeing it fully, she realized, for the first time. The lines bracketing the calm, soft eyes, the even features, the strange hatch pattern of scars beneath his right eye. ‘Pleased,’ she whispered, studying him. ‘Why?’ ‘Because,’ he answered with a faint smile, ‘I like the lad, too.’ ‘How brave do you think I am?’ ‘As brave as is necessary.’ ‘Again.’ ‘Aye. Again.’ ‘You don’t seem much like a god at all, Cotillion.’ ‘I’m not a god in the traditional fashion, I am a patron. Patrons have responsibilities. Granted, I rarely have the opportunity
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