Lasrua is scorched

Lasrua slammed the doors of the tall chest and turned away, panting with a rising fury. One more annoyance, however trivial, would overtop her self-control.

Lasrua slammed the doors of the tall chest and turned away, panting with a rising fury. One more annoyance, however trivial, would overtop her self-control.

Araphel could not permit himself to frequent the Duke’s household, so this was the first time he had seen up-close what he had recently thought to see from afar. The elf had shaved off his beard. Araphel knew enough about the customs of elves to find it a confusing sign, and troubling.

“Mayn’t we be married in one of the chapels?” Eithne murmured. It was becoming apparent that Araphel and Amarel were disposing the candles and lamps across the court with a purpose.

The thick blue glass of the window was as black as the moonless sky behind it, leaving the room nearly dark. The man who had let himself into the guest house had lit only a single candle before knocking smartly at Araphel’s door.

Sophie had tried so hard to stay awake for Stein that she had succeeded. Now, paradoxically, she found herself pretending to sleep.

Stein truly was tired of traveling, but he had nevertheless been dreading coming home.

They were waiting for him, all of them, with their pink, well-scrubbed faces, their neatly combed hair, and their spotless clothes. He could smell dinner roasting in some unseen part of the castle, and those servants had been whisked away who had not been required to meet him—bowing and grinning—as part of their duties. It was clearly an important day.
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