![]() The beats shook Szeth like a quartet of thumping hearts, pumping waves of invisible blood through the room. Most out here in the East thought Szeth's kind were docile and harmless. He was just a servant, and Shin were easy to ignore. Few at the treaty-signing celebration noticed him. He sat on a bench at the back, a still servant in white robes. Szeth did not sway to the drums, drink the sapphire wine, or stand to dance. They looked as if they were dead, at least until their friends carried them out of the feast hall to waiting beds. Some fell to the ground red-faced, the revelry too much for them, their stomachs proving to be inferior wineskins. He sat in a large stone room, baked by enormous firepits that cast a garish light upon the revelers, causing beads of sweat to form on their skin as they danced, and drank, and yelled, and sang, and clapped. ![]() But he did as his masters required and did not ask for an explanation. The white clothing was a Parshendi tradition, foreign to him. Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on the day he was to kill a king. Subject was a darkeyed pregnant woman of middle years. ![]() ![]() Collected on the first day of the week Palah of the month Shash of the year 1171, thirty-one seconds before death. It is but a thousand days, and the Everstorm comes." "The love of men is a frigid thing, a mountain stream only three steps from the ice. ![]()
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