The room had grown cold as ice. the bottom of a page torn from The Seven-Pointed Star, and pressed it into Cedra's hand on her next bath day. Down beside the river, he watched two washerwomen jousting in the shallows, mounted on the shoulders of a pair of men-at-arms. The bailey opened up before her, overgrown.
Let me pass. it seemed. Dust motes swam in the beams of colored light slanting down through the leaded glass of the great dome. She would not come up on deck, no matter what he said, and seemed to prefer to huddle in the dark with her son.
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