" "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. You may go back, Marthe.
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