The Wizard and the Sylph (Part 8, page 1 of 24)

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Part 8


Chapter Seven

The Summoning Stone


Anest watched her, helplessly, unable to speak as she wiped the whetted silver sliver that was her knife, over and over and over again, fearing that her fixation with the irremovable stain of killing might change without warning into physical harm, and the slicing open of her own hand. At last, unable to bear the sight any longer, he plucked the wicked thing, as long, slender and curved as a boning knife, from her trembling hands. For a long moment she stared at her own empty hands,

which though relieved of their instrument of killing, curled into claws in her lap as though they writhed with guilt. She seemed not to notice as he replaced the knife in its sheath at her belt and sat beside her, afraid to speak . . . to do anything that might make it worse . . .

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