Текст книги "Dragonfly"
Автор книги: Julia Golding
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Chapter 9
Ramil let Junis believe she had drunk him under the table. "Another one, sweetheart?" the old woman crowed as he slid from his chair pretending to pass out. She poked her brother in the
ribs. "A good boy but can't hold his drink!"
Fergox saw that his sister had reached the rowdy stage of drunkenness. Any moment now she
would be picking fights with everyone, including him, or singing scurrilous songs that would
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make the toughest soldier blush.
"Come along, Junis, I'll see you to your bed," he said, getting up unsteadily.
He only now realized how much wine he'd consumed. The boy had been very free with the jug.
"Can't I take him with me?" groaned the Inkar as she staggered to her feet.
"Leave him be. He'll not be happy tomorrow morning when he wakes. You can have him later if
you still want him."
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The brother and sister swayed off together through the mass of snoring, sprawling bodies
slumped on and under the tables.
When they had gone, Ramil picked himself up cautiously. He stank of the wine he had slopped
down his front but was stone-cold sober. He knew he had just missed a fate worse than death.
The thought of spending the night with Junis was enough to make him foreswear the company
of women
forever.
He picked his way through the dregs of the festival to the big man sitting morosely by the fire.
"Gordoc, Midwinter cheer to you," Ramil murmured. He hoped he would find the strong man
sober enough for the task he had in mind for him.
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Gordoc raised his sad grey eyes to Ramil's face. The Prince felt a twinge of conscience: should he
ask the man to help him when in all likelihood he would suffer for it?
"Prince, Midwinter cheer to you," Gordoc said in a very uncheerful voice.
There was no trace of drink about him. It appeared he had not been in the mood to participate
in the festivities.
"Did you see the Princess?" Ramil probed gently.
"Aye, I saw her. They said they were going to look after her but she's hurting bad. I can tell." He tapped his chest. "She's hurting in there."
For a simple man, the giant had a very clear sight of people, thought Ramil.
"Yes, she's hurting–and it won't stop unless we get her out of here." Ramil paused. If Gordoc was going
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to give him away, this was the moment when he would call the guard.
Instead, he gripped Ramil's arm.
"You can do it? You can save the Princess?"
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Ramil nodded. "I can do it, but I'll need your help." He glanced around the room. No one was watching. The guards were distracted, flirting with some girls in the entrance. He would not find
a better moment. "Come with me now. I need you to break the Princess out of her cell and get
us a horse.
Once that's done, I'll take her far, far away."
"You'll take her where she can be happy?" Gordoc rubbed his big hands through his wiry brown hair wearily.
"I hope so–I'll certainly try."
Coming to a decision, Gordoc stood up. "I don't understand about these wars and things. I'm a
good Brigardian and they say you're my enemy, but you make more sense to me than my
friends. Little girls should not be beaten by red-robed devils. They should be looked after–made
to smile again. If you can do this, Prince Ramil, I will be in your debt."
Ramil tried to hush him. "Quiet now, we don't want the guards to hear us. Let me lean against
you. Pretend you're helping me stagger out."
Gordoc did better than that. He slung the Prince over his shoulder and strode from the room.
Ramil's guards looked up as they passed.
"Where're you going with him?" one asked, his arm around an attractive serving maid.
"Taking him to his bed on orders of the master," Gordoc replied.
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The guard waved him on, more interested in the charms of his female companion than the
snores of a drunken boy.
Once outside, Gordoc stamped over the snow-covered courtyard to the temple doors.
Ramil thumped his back. "Put me down!"
Gordoc dropped him at the entrance to the temple. It was deadly quiet inside.
The smell of recent bloodshed hung in the air; a single light flickered on the altar throwing
ghostly shadows on the icon of Holin.
"Who goes there?" challenged a guard.
Gordoc did not bother with a reply. He thumped the guard once on the head.
The man crumpled like an unset jelly turned from its mold. There was no going back now. They
had attacked a guard and would have to go through with this.
"She's down here!" Ramil whispered, leading the way to the crypt.
He could hear Gordoc's breath coming in quick, angry bursts. "They put my pretty
underground?" he asked outraged. "With no sun, no light? Buried her with the dead?"
Ramil thought it wise to stoke up the man's indignation. "And no blanket on these cold nights.
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Even Kosind the tiger has been treated better than the Princess."
They reached her cell door. The corridor was empty. Ramil tapped lightly.
"Tashi, it's time," he said.
They heard movements on the other side and a pale face appeared at the grate.
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"Ram? And Gordoc, is that you?"
"Yes, my pretty. Stand back."
Tashi fled to the other end of the cell, guessing what was about to happen.
Gordoc charged at the door and crashed into it with his shoulder. The door groaned, creaked,
and on the third kick, burst open, the lock dangling from the splintered wood. Gordoc
immediately entered and knelt before her.
"You're free. Run away now and be happy."
Tashi dropped to her knees and hugged him. Ramil realized he had never seen her willingly
touch another person before–it was a huge gesture on her part.
"Gordoc, thank you. But you mustn't get into trouble. You must run too!"
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She was right, thought Ramil, they couldn't leave the big man behind–he'd be identified by the
guards and punished. That meant they would need at least two horses.
"Come, let's go," whispered Ramil. "Someone may have heard us."
The three fugitives ran down the corridor, through the silent temple and out into the courtyard.
Gordoc held Tashi's hand, helping her up the stairs and then carrying her over the snowy ground
so that her bare feet would not suffer. Ramil led them to the stables by a back way he had
scouted through the servants' quarters, picking up his bundles from their hiding place as he did
so.
"Right," he said in a low voice, pulling them into the
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shadows by the stable doors. "This is where it gets difficult." He peeked out.
Two guards stood on duty. They looked fed up but very sober, having had to miss the feast to do
this task. "We've got to get past them."
"Difficult?" said Gordoc. "I think not."
Before Ramil could stop him, the big man had broken cover, making straight for the guards. They
pointed their spears towards him.
"Midwinter cheer, my braves!" he bellowed, holding out his arms.
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"Midwinter cheer," they replied uncertainly, glancing at each other.
"Bad luck to be on duty tonight," Gordoc called, sweeping them up in a brotherly embrace, an arm slung around each man's shoulders.
"Someone has to do it," said one, lowering his spear.
"Aye, we drew the short straw," added the other.
"That you did."
So swiftly that Ramil missed it, Gordoc clashed the two men's heads together. They ricocheted
to the ground, out cold.
"Where do you want them, Prince?" Gordoc asked.
Ramil ran forward and pushed open the stable door. "In there," he said, pointing to an empty stall.
Gordoc picked up the two men and placed them carefully on the straw. He grinned at Ramil.
"See, not so difficult."
Tashi crept into the stable and took Gordoc's hand again, seeming to find comfort in the giant's
strength. Ramil quickly ran his eye over the horses on offer.
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"Well, I suppose we might as well go for the best." Stepping up to Fergox's blue roan, he held out a hand and caressed the horse's nose. "Will you carry two, my friend?"
The stallion snorted, liking the sound and smell of this human. Ramil quickly opened the loose-
box door and placed Fergox's best saddle on him. It was no time to worry about deepening their
offense by stealing a horse and tack.
"And now for you, big man," Ramil said. "I think there's only one mount here that will carry you."
He saddled the Inkar's grey warhorse, trained to carry a warrior in armor. "I hope you can ride."
Gordoc nodded. "I rode as a lad–until I got too big."
"That will have to do. We'll lead the horses out by the postern gate. It's the least heavily
guarded. Follow me." He beckoned to the other two.
They paused at the corner of the stable block before coming into view of the gate.
"How are we going to get past these guards?" Tashi asked, shivering in the cold. "More
Midwinter cheer?"
Ramil shook his head. "There are always at least six on the gate–two for the portcullis, two
inside, and two outside. I'm afraid that trick won't work again.
We need to get them together so no one has a chance to raise the alarm."
"How are we going to do that, Prince?" Gordoc asked in his not so very quiet whisper.
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"I'm still thinking about it. To be honest, I'm surprised we've got this far."
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Tashi smiled to herself. That was more like the Ramil she knew: slapdash, rushing in unprepared.
The efficiency of his rescue had been impressive, but out of character.
"I think I can flush them out of their hiding places," Tashi said softly, remembering the scared looks she had always attracted as "the Blue Crescent witch."
Ramil chewed his lower lip, calculating how many he and Gordoc could take out between them.
He had a sword borrowed from the practice courts. The giant needed no weapons but his hands.
They had to fight six men while protecting the Princess and two horses– it was going to be
tough. But he couldn't let her take the risk, even if she could do as she said. "No, it's too
dangerous. Stay here," he ordered.
"Not as dangerous as being caught," she whispered.
Tashi slipped from Gordoc's side and stepped out into the open before Ramil could catch her.
Raising her arms in front, she began running through the ritual of the fingerbowl in her own
language. She kept her eyes fixed on the soldiers as she flicked imaginary water at them.
The men leapt to attention when they saw the black-robed figure drifting towards them.
"The witch!" one gasped. "How did she get out?"
Tashi moved on to the forty strokes of the silver brush, waving her hands from her hair and out
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to the soldiers.
A guard lowered his pike, jerking it in her direction as if she was a wild animal that he was trying
to drive
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off. He was shaking in his boots. "She's spelling us! Get back, witch!" His companion panicked and thumped on the gate, summoning reinforcements.
The two guards from the portcullis rushed through the postern, weapons levelled at the pale girl
who was now twisting and turning in the steps known as the Dance of the Dragonfly, a favorite
game of children in the islands.
"Dragonfly, dragonfly, dance over the pool. Dragonfly, dragonfly, catch me a fool!" she chanted, making the trapping motion that children used to pick the next "dragonfly" in the game. The
men flinched back as if feeling a blow.
Two more guards arrived from outside. One had an arrow already in his bow.
He aimed at her, the point quivering in his terror. They didn't notice the giant creeping in the
shadows behind them.
"Stop her!" the guard squeaked, but no one dared touch her. The archer lost his nerve and
loosed his bowstring, the arrow embedding in her thigh. Tashi sank to the ground, clutching her
leg. Before the soldiers could move to recapture her, there came a grunt of fury from the
gateway and two guards fell to Gordoc's fists. Ramil attacked from the flank, running one man
through and slicing the throat of the archer. Gordoc threw a fifth man against the wall, then
punched the other one in the face before he could mount a defense.
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Ramil felt like vomiting as he saw the blood he had spilt splattered on the snow. He had never
killed a man before, but he knew there was no time for squeamishness. He ran to quiet the
horses as Gordoc picked up the
Princess.
"We must ride quickly and see to her wound once
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we are clear of the castle," Ramil said hoarsely. There was no point trying to hide the bodies:
they would lose too much time and the bloodstained ground told its own story. He swung up
into the saddle and took Tashi from Gordoc, settling her in front of him. Gordoc pushed open the
gates and stood back to allow Ramil to gallop through first. He then mounted the Inkar's grey
warhorse and spurred it on, looking like a grown man on a child's pony.
Together they clattered down the cobbled road to the main gate.
"Make way!" Ramil shouted as guards stepped out into the road.
"Messengers for the Spearthrower!" Most jumped back but one brighter man realized that
something was amiss when he saw the fair-haired passenger.
He swiped at Ramil with his spear, only to be kicked in the head by Gordoc.
A horn sounded up in the citadel. With dread, Ramil knew they were galloping towards trouble
at the main town gates. These were bound to be defended now that the alarm had been raised.
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As he feared, a group of soldiers waited with drawn swords and pikes, the front row kneeling in
the road to stop their flight. Ramil had not, however, reckoned on the warhorses. Trained for
combat, the stallions kicked out and reared, fearless of the blades, stamping a way through the
line of unfortunates who had been on duty. Gordoc reached from the saddle and lifted aside the
heavy bar locking the gates from the inside. With a roar he hurled it at the reinforcements
rushing from the guardhouse, knocking them over like ninepins.
The way clear before them, Ramil spurred his horse
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onwards. The blue roan streaked down the road, taking them beyond
bowshot from the wall. Heading north, the two horses ran towards the mountains for a mile,
passing through the checkpoints before the sleepy soldiers had a chance to react. Horns and
bells sounded in Felixholt as the garrison mobilized, soldiers shaken from their drunken stupor.
Taking advantage of a quiet stretch in the trees, Ramil steered his horse off the road and took to
the countryside, looping round to head south. He had long since decided that this was their only
hope of escape. North was where Fergox would look for them and was where he was massing
his troops. The
warhorses plunged through the woods and broke out into open fields. Ramil could hear the
snorts of the grey working hard to keep up so he knew Gordoc was still with them.
"Run, boy, run!" he urged his mount as the first flake fluttered from the sky.
The horses galloped on into the night, twin tracks in the white fields soon filled by the blessing
of a heavy fall of snow.
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Two hours later, Ramil judged they could risk a brief rest. Their steeds could not go much further
at this pace, burdened as they were, and he was worried about Tashi. He could hear her breath
coming in pained gasps as she pressed her hand to her wound to staunch the bleeding. He
spotted a wooden barn situated quite far from a farmhouse. There were no lights–it seemed as
if the
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inhabitants were asleep. It would have to do. Signalling to Gordoc, he directed his horse to slow
to a walk.
"Can you hold yourself in the saddle, Tashi?" he whispered.
She nodded.
Throwing the reins to Gordoc, he slid off the horse and crept to the side of the barn. It was not
unknown for farm workers to sleep in such buildings. He had to hope this farmer was kinder to
his men in winter. He unbarred the door and peered inside. The smell of cows hit him: a whole
herd was sheltering on the ground floor. Climbing up into the hayloft he paused, waiting for his
eyes to adjust to the poor light. It was empty of inhabitants, apart from a cool-eyed owl up in the
rafters. He returned quickly to his companions.
"All clear. We have about an hour or two, I guess, until the farmer stirs–
longer maybe if they were celebrating Midwinter tonight. Let's see to the Princess and the
horses."
The cows made no fuss as Ramil led the horses to their trough for a well-earned drink and a
share of the fodder. Gordoc carried Tashi up to the hayloft and laid her on a pile of straw. Ramil
joined him. They both looked down at Tashi who had her eyes closed, fighting the pain.
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"And what was all that about, Your Highness?" Ramil muttered angrily as he assessed the
wound. The arrow had passed through her robe and into the fleshy part of her leg. From the
limited amount of blood, he guessed it had missed the major artery but it had done enough
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damage. He ripped the cloth away from the shaft. "I told you it was too dangerous but you had
to dance around like that and scare us all!"
"You should've listened to him, my pretty," Gordoc said sorrowfully. He put the leather strap of his belt between her teeth for her to bite down. Ramil knew he was going to make the wound
worse drawing out the arrowhead, but they could not leave it there to fester. Better to be quick.
Tashi cried out as he tugged the barbed points free; it hurt even more than when the arrow had
first entered. Her leg began to bleed again. Ramil ripped up the black robe to put pressure on
the wound, then bandaged it tightly. The sharp pain receded, leaving a dul insistent ache.
"Sloppy shot," Ramil remarked, able to smile now that the worst was over.
"Hit nothing vital. And now I've ruined your robes, you'd better put these on."
He pulled some warmer clothes out of his bundle: shirt, leggings, thick jacket and scarf. "Sorry I couldn't find any shoes your size, but there are some woollen socks that'll do while we ride."
Gordoc helped Tashi lift herself up so she could slip the leggings on under her robe, then the two
men turned their backs as she changed into the shirt and jacket. The effort almost made her
swoon as every movement
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reawakened the pain in her leg, but she knew it was worth it once she began to feel warmth.
She lay back on the straw gratefully, covering herself with the remnants of the penitent's robe.
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Ramil knelt beside her and brushed her hair off her forehead gently. His heart twisted with
concern: she looked so pale and fragile. "Rest now, Your Highness. We've got to be gone before
the sun's up."
Tashi nodded and fell immediately into a deep sleep, feeling safe for the first time in weeks.
Moving before dawn, the three travellers spent the rest of that day riding through the barren
countryside of Brigard, steering due south. Ramil and Gordoc spoke only briefly, the attention of
both devoted to putting as much distance between them and Felixholt as they could. Tashi said
nothing at all, sunk far into herself, allowing the others to make decisions for her.
Fortunately for Ramil, Gordoc knew the land around these parts well, having travelled them
many times in the past with Orboyd's circus.
"We should make for the Fens," he advised. "It's a wild place. Fergox's rule is felt only weakly there. We'll be able to hide until she is fit to ride further."
They reached the outlying regions of the Fens by evening, entering a strange empty landscape
with stands of tall bulrushes and networks of ditches, slow going for the horses. The wind cut
through their clothes with a biting edge.
"We can't spend the night outside," Ramil told Gordoc. "Do you know somewhere we can stay?"
The big man wiped a droplet from his nose with his sleeve. "Aye. There's a windmill not far from
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here. The keeper used to let the circus stop in his yard.
He may let us stay if we pay him well."
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Ramil shook his head. "I've no money, and I doubt the priests left Tashi with any gold."
Gordoc chuckled and patted his pockets. "But I, young Prince, have my winnings from last night
on me. You can thank the weak-armed soldiers of the Spearthrower for that."
The windmill sat at the head of a drainage ditch, a dark cross against the night sky, its purpose to
pump the water from the low-lying fields reclaimed from the fens. The keeper was a surly man
with a hunched back, shrivelled up like a blighted leaf. He greeted Gordoc but spared not a word
for Ramil or Tashi, sensing they meant trouble.
"I don't want to know," he said, biting the coin. "You can stable your horses here tonight, eat and sleep under my roof, but you're to be gone by sun up.
No names, no faces. If you're caught, you were never here."
After seeing to their horses, Ramil joined Tashi by the fire in the little room allocated to them.
Gordoc was supping with the miller, feet up on the table.
Ramil admired the strong man's ability to seize his chance to relax when it was offered. As for
himself, he was still jumpy, expecting their pursuers to be knocking down the door at any
moment.
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"How's the leg?" he asked Tashi, passing her a bowl of bean soup and a hunk of bread.
"Fine," she said quietly.
"You've just had an arrow pulled out of your thigh and you say it's fine!"
Ramil marvelled. Blue Crescent people were so understated, it beggared belief.
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"All right, it hurts." Tashi put the soup aside untouched.
"You have to eat." Ramil took a spoonful of his own meal, his empty stomach growling.
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care if you're hungry or not; you have to eat or you'll slow us down."
Tashi closed her eyes, refusing to listen to him. His restless energy and positive attitude dropped
like a stone into her well of despair, causing a ripple before vanishing.
Ramil tapped her arm, annoyed by her passivity. "Look, I'm going to need some help here, Your
Highness. I may have got you out of the castle, but we're still in the middle of Fergox's empire,
hunted by all his troops by now."
"I told you to leave me behind."
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"And I told you that I was going to rescue you." He now knew how the Inkar had felt; he wanted to shake Tashi himself. "Listen to me: you've been through a terrible ordeal. Fergox has meddled
with your head, told you stuff that's not true, confused you. Are you going to believe what he
said, or what you've spent your whole life trusting?"
Tashi shivered. "I can't explain it, Ram. I think I've lost my beliefs completely.
My faith was like one of those bogs out there–I thought it was all green and pleasant until I tried
trusting myself to it, then I fell through." She clutched her hands together in a tense, desperate knot. "I'm drowning."
Ramil, who had never stopped to ask himself what
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he really believed, tried to imagine what it was like to be her, a person whose whole life had
been governed by an acute sense of her Goddess. He guessed a little of the emptiness and the
fear that Tashi was feeling. He thought he'd saved her from Fergox, but now he realized he'd
only brought part of her with him. If he was to do his job properly, he would have to help her
escape this too, unlikely though he was as a defender of the Blue Crescent faith.
"You think this just because he told you he bribed the priests?"
She nodded.
"Well, I've known for ages that he did that–the rumors have been around for years."
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"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No, it's supposed to make you realize that, once you were made into the Crown Princess, how
you got there no longer mattered to everyone else."
"It matters to me–it will matter to my people."
Ramil ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Look, I don't know very much about your
faith but if it's anything like mine, I'd be wondering if the Supreme Being cannot use even a man
like Fergox in his or her plans.
You might be where you are now because your Goddess exploited the
Spearthrower's greed. Maybe she wants you here."
Tashi opened her eyes. His dark gaze was fixed on her, full of compassion.
"Do you think that's true?" she whispered, hardly daring to allow herself to hope.
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"Oh, Tashi, I don't know." Ramil rubbed his face, not feeling up to this deep discussion, though he knew it was vital. "I've never claimed to know what's true when it comes to the big questions
of religion. I'm just an ignorant boor, remember."
She smiled at the reminder of her own rash words. Ramil felt an urge to kiss her sweet, sad lips,
but instead reached out and took her hand.
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"What I do know, Tashi, is that it is possible and preferable to the alternative explanation that Fergox is in control of all our destinies. And I suppose the only way to find out who is right is to
live our lives as if we do have faith in our Father–or Mother in your case. It seems to me that in
the end your Goddess and my God are two sides of the same Creator."
Tashi knew she had reached a turning point. She could continue on to despair, following the
path pointed out to her by the Spearthrower, or she could listen to Ramil and walk the way of
faith with nothing but hope to guide her. She knew which she wanted to choose, if only to spite
Fergox. Not the most admirable reason, but it would have to do for now.
"Thank you, Ram. I take back what I said about your being ignorant. I think you are wiser than
me."
"So you'll help us in this mad jaunt of ours through occupied lands, fleeing all the soldiers of the Empire?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said, picking up her bowl.
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