“She could not move or utter a sound. Fighting to catch her breath, Kel stared at the table. Duke Turomot, the Lord Magistrate, consulted a long sheet of parchment; Ebroin of Genlith, the steward for the lord of Stone Mountain, manipulated a large abacus as the duke spoke. They sat behind the table. Joren of Stone Mountain leaned on it, beautiful in black velvet, his hair pale gold against the dense black. He smiled mockingly at the people in the line. “Lalasa Isran,” Ebroin said clearly, ta...king up his abacus. Kel wrenched hard at her bindings. A muscle pulled in her neck, sending a white-hot streak of pain into her skull. “Dressmaker,” Turomot said, drumming his fingers on the table. Ebroin touched a bead on the abacus. “Breeding age, looks well when clean, strong enough for servant’s work, rarely ill.” For each comment, Ebroin flicked another bead on the abacus. “That is all of worth about her,” Turomot said.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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