At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. ‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. She’s taken my sword. The door popped open with a sigh. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being.
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