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... t, playing in the mud. A boy with silver eyes and a girl with a mane of dark crimson hair—the kind of red that wasn't natural. The kind that shimmered with soulfire in the right light.

There was no inscription, but the image sparked a strange pang in Valeris's chest. Familiar. Too familiar.

She moved on to the next painting.

The same children—older now. The girl standing on a craggy cliff beneath a storm-wracked sky, arms raised as if calling the lightning. The boy knelt ...

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