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490 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 10, 2020
"Can you break the shackles?" the elf gasped, and Myrion's fingers clenched even harder in this anger.
"If I could break the shackles, do you think I'd still be here?"
"Then..." The elf's voice was a ragged gasp. "I hope you're ready to drag my body as you escape."
I looked at Mizzy and saw her lip tremble, and realized she knew I'd lied but was pretending. That her friends killed by a monster were worth avenging. That someone in this grinding city would help. That a funny stranger in a fancy dress would turn out to be, if not a hero, a decent imitation of one.
"So, we rode into town."
"We walked. Because we lost the horses."
"Saved the horses. And the village."
"To thunderous applause. And it will probably be overrun by locusts when we leave."
"You said it yourself, vengeance was the best I could offer."
"No! My exact words were: 'We can't help these people.' I said nothing of vengeance. You're the vengeancey one."
"You've never heard my true name. I've never said it to anyone." She lowered her voice as she spoke, and Rasaan instinctively leaned forward.
"Go on, then," she said, bemused.
"Saarebas-alit an," said Laudine.
She didn't know much of the language - Qunlat was coarser than ancient Elven - but she'd said enough. Saarebas literally meant "dangerous thing," the Qunari word for mage. Basalit an was a foe worthy of respect.
Rasaan's gray skin went white. She hadn't bound the captives as mages.