wasted, naked body, to reveal a too-thin arm
and the hideous purplish scar near the wrist ...
He knew why he had felt the key’s presence
throughout the keep. Moving about.
Vanishing.
It had been walking. Trailing its master.
Her enslaver.
A collar of black stone had been clamped
around her throat.
And yet she sat there in that rumpled bed.
Staring at him.
Hollow and vacant—and in pain.
He had no words. There was only ringing
silence.
Kaltain had destroyed the Valg prince
inside her, but the Wyrdkey had driven her
mad. Had given her terrible power, but ripped
apart her mind.
Dorian slowly, carefully, took one step
closer to the bed. “You’re awake,” he said,
lily
(lily)
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