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... someone stop behind him—a presence whose very scent, if one could see fragrances, would have been unmistakably Silverna’s. She was a woman who seemed made for the frozen North.

“Isaac,” Silverna called.

Isaac turned. Silverna, now steady on her feet and little by little reclaiming her former self, wore a somber expression.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Sir Eisenwolf ordered me to escort Nameless to the Mage-Tower so they can research the rituals.”

I ...

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