“The moaning wind sounded wrong. It even smelled wrong, carrying the odors of dirt and smoke and livestock, but not the salt tang he’d never noticed till he met it no more. Instead of being able to look out from a tall window and see far across blue water, he now found his horizon limited to a few hundred yards of gray rock, gray-brown dirt, and gray-green brush. The wagon in which he rode bumped along over winding trails so narrow he wouldn’t have thought a horse able to use them, let alone a v...ehicle with wheels. And, of course, no one had ever used him as Syagtios and Olyvria did now. All through his life, people had jumped to obey, even to anticipate, his every whim. The only exceptions he’d known were his father, his mother when she was alive, and his brothers—and, being the eldest, he was pretty good at getting his way with Evripos and Katakolon. That a rebel officer’s daughter and a ruffian could not only disobey him but give orders themselves had never crossed his mind, even in nightmare.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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