“An Oracle you are! Sebastian never told me he’d made one!” Rhea screamed a scream that was part horror and part laughter. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper.
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