providential. Liandrin unfastened this with a large key she produced from her cloak, motioned them through, then relocked it behind them and rode on ahead immediately. You're letting fancies take you, he told himself irritably. She was only half surprised to see a ball of fire leave her hand.
The Amyrlin turned back to Ingtar and the men gathered behind him. He heard the youngest woman mutter, He is wearing a sword, in tones of mingled horror and contempt. Liandrin's rosebud mouth tightened, but her tone did not change. But beyond that lay a thousand questions more.
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