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Ylandra, he repeated, keeping his voice low, untie me. Let me go. I dont think wecan get it, Lily replied, never looking away from the torn face of the picture. I think that might be the point. She laid herself bare. Shouldntthat be enough? This was never about the damn award. I think… Lily studied the detail of the exposed heart, colour rising in her cheeks. The grim pallor of death had eased from her skin, and she scratched the side of her throat, now whole and perfect. She peered in closer, taking in all the intimate details of the terrors lurking in the dark recesses of the painting. They lurked in the shadows between ribs, peeked around veins and arteries. “I think she just wanted us to see the real her.” She reached forward and pressed a hand against the canvas.* * * Ill need her. If Im to get through any of this, I will need her help every step of the way. Not just this, not just Alyssa and Gilliads legacy. But all of it. I’ll need Elayne’s help because I can rely on her. Even if I can’t rely on anyone else. No. Theyd merely done what hed asked them to. But there was no point in telling Ylandra that. Hatred consumed her. So much hatred. Had he sounded like this? And not so long ago, before he met Jeren, had he spoken of Holters the same way? Part of him feared he had. Knew he had. And he hated the thought and the sound of the venom in such words now. Warren glanced up, a bemused smile on his face as his apprentice burst through the office door, hair awry and face animated.What covers a lot of territory, Cecil, and these plans are due to be filed in the next day or so. I dont have time to play guessing games. A smile ghosted across her lips.It doesnt matter. Im his bodyguard, nothing more. And why would someone like him ever look at me? The smoker has no name, other thanMan on Train. He was played by Curt Harris, an actor Samara had yet to see in anything else. He turns a corner on the subway platform, meandering through the commuters exiting the train. Before stepping through the open doors, he savours one last drag of his cigarette and tosses it aside. No more. He blamed us, said we helped her, and would betray him with the intention of putting her on the throne. So he made a pact with the Fell and they came and took us away. Here. Into the darkness. The shadowy chains holding Jeren dissolved. She gave a sob, so frail and helpless a sound, and curled in on herself. Shan met the River Holt assassin in a brief economy of movement. No effort, no challenge. There was something other than anger in his face. She could have sworn it was irritation more than rage, though rage was there as well. Blade clashed against blade and light flashed on the steel. Shan twisted away from him. Even now, hurt and exhausted, to watch him fight was like watching poetry, like watching a myth given form, watching the Dance. His sword slid over the top of Torvins extended blade, even as his body turned aside to avoid it, and bit deep. Samara squinted at the painting she had studied for countless hours over the last several weeks, seeking out an errant brushstroke or misdirected line. Horizontal streaks barred her vision, flickering with analogue static. Samara tried to blink them away, to adjust the tracking of her own sight and return to her meticulous search. The agitated lines remained, the girl no longer a subject captured on canvas, but a video nasty, a creature paused on VHS. She couldnt see in the darkness, not clearly, couldnt push her vision to perform beyond its natural capabilities. You can appeal this, Indarin was saying. Shan barely heard him over the uproar of arguing voices. Springmoot is not long and Ariah is coming. The Seers too. Ariah can overrule— Ah. His grip on her hands loosened but she clung to him. You smell like your dad. Like breakfast..