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... avely foolish thing.

Carcel was very, very still. He was a statue, carved from granite, his face a mask of pained, rigid control. He was staring at her, this small, absurdly brave creature, crouched at his feet like a supplicant at an altar, asking not for blessings, but for knowledge.

Ines, having asked the most terrifying question of her life, did the only thing she could. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could not bear to see his face. Another rejection or disgust, or even horr ...

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