A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 2 – Chapter 37

A short way beyond the city of Mozom Alph, a waterfall tumbled into a sheltered gorge. Above its plunge pool, Dumai dashed along a bridge, soaked from her last swim. Wind rushed in her ears as she jumped off the edge and plummeted again, slicing into deep water.

When she was a child, she had splashed in the hot spring, but it was too small for swimming. Now Kanifa could teach her what he had learned off the mountain.

The pool was as cold as the one on Mount Ipyeda. Enfolded in it, Dumai opened her eyes, letting herself float.

Far below, ghostly fish swam over a darkness. During the Long Slumber, most Sepuli dragons had settled on riverbeds, or near waterfalls – they preferred fresh, running water – but a pair of human divers had disturbed the sleeper in this pool, startling him elsewhere. Furtia slept in these abandoned depths now, regaining her strength after her flight.

Dumai surfaced with a waft of white breath. Nearby, Kanifa sat on a flat rock, eating a pear.

‘I hope Queen Arkoro will see us soon.’ Dumai joined him and wrapped herself in a mantle, and he passed her a flask of hot barley tea. ‘While we wait for her, this threat could be growing.’

‘Give her time. Our arrival was sudden,’ Kanifa said. ‘Furtia alone must have surprised them.’

‘Dragons have little concern for diplomacy. I may not be able to keep her here much longer.’

As if woken by their voices, Furtia spoke from her new lair: We must begin the search, earth child.

The queen has still not called me. Suddenly the tea tasted of iron. Soon, great one. You have my word.

I told you. Your crowns and thrones do not matter.

A few more days, I beg you.

Dumai was sure the water bubbled as Furtia growled in irritation.

‘At least Lady Nikeya has not been too troublesome,’ she said, to distract herself.

‘So far.’ Kanifa glanced towards the temple, high above. ‘She should have recovered by now.’

‘Flying was clearly not one of her many talents.’

Her withdrawal did concern Dumai. She had seen climbers die from mountain sickness.

‘You warned her of the danger,’ Kanifa said, reading her face. ‘Don’t forget who she is, or what she’s doing here. The Royal Guard took my weapons. You must stay vigilant.’

She held up her cropped fingers. ‘If a mountain failed to get rid of me, no courtier will.’

Kanifa smiled. ‘I believe you.’ He nudged her. ‘You should go up to get warm.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll sit a little longer.’

Dumai nodded. She turned to start the long climb back, leaving him to watch two otters capering in the water.

****

It was sunset by the time she reached the temple, which stood between the middle and lower shelves of the waterfall. Twelve members of the Royal Guard observed her crossing the stepstones to its entrance.

She wondered what they thought of her. Centuries since the last Seiikinese delegation, and now here she was, in all her strangeness – an islander only just learning to swim, a princess who dressed in no finery. I know, she wanted to tell them. I know I make no sense.

Furtia had brought them here under cover of darkness, guided by signal fires. Until they were summoned to the palace, the pool was the farthest her riders were permitted to go.

Dumai walked through the temple. After its dragon had fled, it had been dedicated to one of the Queens of Spring. Those who honoured her wore pink on white, and their rites were unfamiliar, but it comforted Dumai, to be in a place of worship. It also made her miss her mother.

Oil lamps burned in the bathhouse. She undressed, face tingling with cold, relishing the ache in her muscles. Already she felt more like her old self. She and Kanifa still had the mountain in their blood – neither of them had sickened on dragonback. Furtia had let them drink water from her scales, flying low enough that they could all stay conscious.

Dumai knew not to take that concern for granted. The sea holds loyalty to no one, the River Lord had warned, and it was true. A dragon could only be a friend as much as wind or water could.

She was still resolved to help this one. At the same time, she could not risk insulting the Queen of Sepul by not telling her why she was here, or seeking her permission to begin a search.

There had to be a middle way between deference and diplomacy. Surely a godsinger princess could find it.

The sunken bath was empty. A dish stood at each corner, filled with fine black salt for polishing the skin. Dumai rinsed herself before sitting on the side, drawing one leg up to reach her foot.

‘Princess.’

The voice made her start. Nikeya stood in the doorway, hair loose, wearing an unlined robe.

You must stay vigilant, Kanifa had said, and here Dumai was, alone and defenceless.

‘Lady Nikeya.’ This time, she would keep her composure. ‘You arise.’

‘You were right about the headaches, but my eyes never bled,’ Nikeya said. Her cheeks and nose were still a little sunburnt from the flight. ‘I must be stronger than you feared.’

‘Not enough, apparently, to keep yourself from vomiting on a god.’

Mercifully, Furtia had appeared not to notice.

‘Oh, come, Princess. Crowing over your subjects’ faults does not become a future ruler.’ Nikeya slid the door shut behind her. ‘Why not commend my accomplishments instead?’

It must be possible to fluster this woman. Like her father, she seemed unflappable.

‘Thank you for your advice,’ Dumai said. ‘What is it, precisely, you believe I should commend?’

‘My survival, surely. None but the Noziken are known to have ridden a dragon and lived.’

‘Kanifa did the same. He does not expect praise, like a child.’ Dumai worked salt up her arms, mindful of her own sunburn. ‘I assume you came here to bathe.’

‘Of course. Why else should I come to a bathhouse?’

Nikeya shouldered out of her robe. As she came to lounge on the other side of the bath, bare as her ambition, Dumai made a failed attempt to shrink her body behind her knee, lowering her waist.

‘Now we’re alone, we could talk, like we did at the temple,’ Nikeya said lightly. ‘You were friendlier then. That stuffy court brings out the worst in us all, but we are far away from it. Let us get to know each other.’

‘I know you are here to spy on me for your family. I know you have threatened people I love.’ Dumai kept scrubbing. ‘Is there anything I missed?’

Nikeya gazed at her, hands on either side of her hips. Her hair was thick and long.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have my secrets, as we all do, but let me see. I was born on the outskirts of Nanta. My father and I are from a large clan, but I am his only surviving child. My mother died when I was seventeen. I am a poor swimmer, a fine dancer, an excellent archer. I hate the cold. I love spring. It was my childhood dream to sail across the Sundance Sea.’ She slid into the water. ‘Most importantly, I care about the people of Seiiki.’

‘Then perhaps you should press your father to spend less of his time entertaining, and more on helping those in the dust provinces. I hear that he prefers to exile anyone who tries.’

That seemed to catch her interest. ‘What do you care for the dust provinces?’

‘My mother was born in one. Of course I care.’

‘Then why not ask Furtia to send rain?’

‘One dragon could not end this drought alone.’

‘But you believe my father can?’ Nikeya smiled. ‘You must think very highly of his talents, Princess.’

‘Furtia is not yet at her full strength,’ Dumai reminded her. ‘And she is not mine to command.’

‘Neither is my father mine.’

Nikeya sank up to her collarbone, all her dark hair fanning around her. Against her will, Dumai imagined winding her fingers through it.

She washed away both the salt and the thought, rising to fetch her robe. ‘No bath after all?’ Nikeya said, resting her folded arms on the side. ‘I can always close my eyes.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘Then let me comb your hair before you sleep. I’m told I have the touch for it.’

‘I am twenty-eight. I can comb my own hair, Lady Nikeya.’

‘You might think so, sweet princess – but remember, I met you before you had attendants. You couldn’t style it for this court if your life depended on it. I hope you’re not planning to try.’

Her laugh was soft as a feather, sending a shiver through Dumai. ‘Do you never tire of your intrigues?’ Dumai said, fastening the robe too hard. ‘Truly. Do the Kuposa never stop?’

‘A bell that stops can only rust.’

‘Your father’s words?’

‘Mine. Am I not my own woman, and a poet?’ Nikeya emerged from the bath and walked towards her. ‘I’m not your enemy. Not unless you give me reason.’

‘That sounds like a threat.’

‘Does it?’

Dumai kept her gaze on those lively eyes, which held the light from the oil lamps.

‘Let’s agree to be friends,’ Nikeya said, softer. ‘I think we both want the best for Seiiki.’

Before Dumai could reply, Nikeya reached for her, making her flinch. Nikeya smiled a little more.

‘You would think I was a wolf.’ With surprising care, she drew a thread of damp hair between her fingers, teasing out a pine needle. ‘Are you certain you don’t want me to comb this, Princess?’

Dumai could feel her own breath betraying her. A warm drift in her darkest waters.

Daughter, have you lost your senses?

‘I will manage,’ she said, starting to draw away. ‘Wait. You said I couldn’t style it for this court.’

‘Oh, yes – a messenger came at noon.’ Nikeya smiled. ‘Queen Arkoro will see us tomorrow morning.’

Dumai stared at her in exasperation. ‘Did you not think to tell me that earlier?’

‘I must have been distracted.’ Nikeya returned to the bath. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Princess.’

****

In the guest quarters, Dumai lay on her bedding. As she tried to sleep, she remembered her strange dream – the figure who had spoken with her.

On the mountain, the Grand Empress had started teaching her to control her dreams. The dreamer had to fall asleep, but also stay aware.

Dumai turned on to her back, heels and hands planted on the floor. As sleep drew her in, she concentrated on those anchor points, trying to float instead of sinking deep under the waves.

Are you there?

There was the stream, winding like silver thread through cloth. I’m here, the messenger answered. Dumai glimpsed movement in the dark. I suppose we can’t say where we are.

This realm is like a bubble, floating between the mortal and celestial worlds. A bubble that serves as a bridge. Perhaps if our discussion strays too close to our real lives, it breaks, and we fall back to wakefulness.

This sounds a very fragile bridge. I’m not sure I would pay the toll . . .

Dumai smiled. We can keep testing its strength. Her lips shaped the words in Seiikinese, but that was not the language in her dream. This was a language she had never learned. I still wonder where in this wide world you are. If you feel the same disturbances, the same strangeness.

What do you mean?

You must have seen. The earth quaked, and groundwater boiled, and the sun hid its light for almost a year.

If you don’t know why that happened, you must be very far away. It was a fire mountain that caused all of it. The other presence faded, then strengthened again. I feel our rickety bridge straining. Let’s not speak of such things. How is it we can meet in dreams?

I would say the gods allowed it, but you claimed not to have gods. Who is it that you praise, that rules you?

A warrior. Dumai sensed a sudden reserve, shot with curiosity. You spoke of magic. Are you . . . a sorcerer?

Only a dreamer. Feeling herself sink too deep, she reached for her bedding and grasped it until her hand ached. This bridge must have formed for a reason.

Perhaps we’re just here to comfort each other. Even if this is a trick – or if I’m only talking to myself – it’s nice to be less alone in the dark. Silence. I don’t know what to call you. Could you tell me your name?

I think it will separate us again.

Let’s try. We can find our way back to one another.

Dumai is my name. And yours?

I am—

At once, the connexion unravelled, and Dumai fell headlong from the dream, so cold her teeth chattered. She huddled closer to the stove, wishing she could speak to the Grand Empress. Her grandmother might know how to make sense of this.

It took mental strength to sustain that dream, and her body was drained from swimming. This time, she let herself descend into a heavy slumber.

Halfway through the night, she stirred, thinking of a smile that curved like a blade. Her hand slid to the ache between her thighs. In the loose, warm hold of sleep, she imagined that it was someone else touching her.

Have you lost your senses?

She sat up with a sharp intake of breath, heart dancing in her chest. This time, the voice in her head was her own: Are you so hungry for touch that you would crave it from a hunter?

****

She stole to the bathhouse before dawn to wash, dressing in the garments that had been sent from the palace – a white tunic under a pale blue jacket, trousers of soft yellow silk that sat high on her waist. (The flight had creased her own clothes beyond saving.) She combed her hair, smoothing it several times, frowning uncertainly. She looked down and saw two drops of blood on the floor.

A breath of pure relief escaped her. That was why she had yearned in the dark. She often felt soft ripples of desire on her first day.

It was nothing to do with Kuposa pa Nikeya.

One of the worshippers brought her bloodleaf. No more. Dumai rolled it into a stopper. No more.

She faced her reflection. Her father had told her not to take a crown to Sepul – only a modest headpiece and his Privy Seal. She tucked it into a sleeveless overcoat, fastened with a silver belt. Queen Arkoro had been generous to send clothes appropriate for a princess.

Kanifa took her to the palanquin at the top of the waterfall, where Nikeya waited on a horse, dressed in a fine pink coat. ‘I don’t recall inviting you, Lady Nikeya,’ Dumai said irritably.

‘Good morning to you, too, Princess.’ Some of her hair was unbound, while the rest was rolled and braided over her scalp. ‘Queen Arkoro has summoned all three dragonriders.’

‘Why?’

‘I have no idea, but let’s consider it a blessing. I understand you aren’t yet fluent in Sepuli,’ Nikeya said. ‘Fortunately, I am. I can serve as your interpreter.’

‘Queen Arkoro will have her own.’

‘Surely you need one as well, to ensure you don’t blunder Seiiki into a political disaster. You may have learned to swim, Princess, but a fish in a pond does not know the sea.’

‘This fish is weary of your unsolicited advice,’ Dumai informed her, and climbed into the palanquin.

The journey was rocky at first. Once they had descended from the low mountains, Dumai was carried through the east gate of the city. Tucked into the palanquin, she watched through a tiny slot.

If anyone had told her that a city could shimmer like gold, she would have thought it a myth from the ground. Mozom Alph had long been celebrated for its artistry, but to behold its splendour – buildings so intricately worked, down to each tile on their roofs – was enough to render the heart still. It was a harbour on the Bay of Kamorthi, where stonemasons, goldsmiths and artists flocked, ornamenting all they touched.

Marble arches opened into sculpture gardens. White apricot and snowbell trees lined the streets. A monumental starwatch, designed by a Sepuli princess, marked the ancient cradle of the city.

The palanquin joined the carts, horses and crowds, bound for the cliff way that led to the palace. They crossed a channel of the River Yewuyta and passed a coastal market beside the Sundance Sea. In the distance, she glimpsed the Bay Legion, anchored in deeper waters – a navy of sailboats and ironclad spearships, for defence, exploration and commerce.

Through its wide fishnet of trade routes, like the Snow Road, the Queendom of Sepul reached all the way across the Abyss. One could buy from half the known world in this market. A handful of Seiikinese traders had risked the dangerous voyage, selling out of rowboats: amber and gold, woodwork, dark lacquerware inlaid with pearl mantle.

Dumai drank it all in. As the palanquin stopped for a procession of city guards on horseback, a group of seafarers caught her eye. Their clothes were cut in no style she recognised. One showed a silver bowl to a Sepuli woman, who nodded, reaching for her purse.

‘Who do you think they are?’ Dumai asked Kanifa, who rode beside her palanquin.

He looked. ‘I’d say they’re from over the Abyss.’

‘Southerners,’ Nikeya confirmed. ‘An Ersyri prince sailed here long ago and married a Princess of Summer. Some Sepuli have since converted to his religion of light and mirrors.’

Dumai said, ‘Queen Arkoro permits this?’

‘Our gods have not been seen in centuries, Princess. People need something to believe in.’

One of the seafarers wore a medallion around her neck. It caught the sun as she laughed.

Mozom had been the original capital of Sepul, until a queen had borne four identical daughters. She had divided the peninsula between them, naming each territory for a season, and Mozom had become the Spring City.

Now the four had merged back into one, with a single Queen of Sepul, who resided in the Old Palace. White as bone, with layered roofs, it sprawled across a high cliff on the east side of the bay, commanding a view of both city and coast. Its main bridge crossed the River Yewuyta where it met the sea, forming a thousand-foot waterfall.

The building must have been adorned over centuries, every flying eave and pillar beautifully carved, the roof beams whittled into spines and decked with curving ribs. A gold sculpture of a Sepuli dragon defended its entrance, with a flowing beard and four long claws.

Dumai climbed from the palanquin, still marvelling at the palace, finding no end of intricacies. The spines and ribs must hearken back to the founding story of the Queendom of Sepul, which spoke of a dragon who had lost a bone during a transformation. The bone had turned into a small girl, who had spent twenty years following her creator, trying hundreds of tricks to catch her attention. When the dragon finally noticed her, they had claimed Sepul together, and since then, women had always ruled the peninsula, in deference to Queen Harkanar.

Three court ladies met them at the entrance, which was flanked by what Dumai soon realised were dragons’ horns.

‘Princess Dumai,’ the middle woman said in Sepuli, offering a small bow. ‘Welcome – welcome to the Golden City. Queen Arkoro awaits you in the Summer Garden.’

‘I look forward to meeting her.’

The woman hesitated.

‘The sea wind is so strong today. I’ve had to tidy my hair several times,’ she said with a nervous laugh, gesturing at it. Her coif was sturdy and perfect, strung with loops of river pearls. ‘Would you care to have yours combed, Princess, before you see Her Majesty?’

Nikeya covered her laugh with a cough. Dumai crushed a childish urge to step on her foot.

The palace was even more beautiful inside. Designs representing the seasons – autumn leaves, flowers, persimmon, evergreens – paid tribute to the Age of Four Queens. White dragons curled around the pillars. A stream of the Yewuyta purled along the corridors. Dumai allowed a servant to style her hair and reposition her gold headpiece, shaped like a leaping fish.

They followed the woman into a walled garden, where season trees were in yellow leaf.

‘How?’ Dumai said in surprise. ‘It’s winter.’

‘Heated floors. They trick the trees,’ the woman said, with pride. ‘Kindly wait here,’ she added to Kanifa and Nikeya. ‘The Queen of Sepul will greet the Crown Princess of Seiiki.’

They lingered under a tree. Dumai continued along the warm path, where flowering shrubs spiced the air.

Queen Arkoro sat in a curtained pavilion, her ivory and black layers secured with a belt of gold openwork, circling a slim waist. Pearls frosted her crown, which had tall branches, like antlers. Her face was shaped like an ash leaf, wide cheekbones tapering into a pointed chin.

A strong-featured man was beside her, wearing a look of polite curiosity. From his shorter crown, he was her consort – brown of skin where she was pale, muscular where she was slight, gold drops in his earlobes. His trim moustache just touched the corners of his mouth.

‘Princess Dumai,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Please accept my apologies for not receiving you for so long. It has been necessary for me to spend many hours with my Council of Nobles.’

Dumai bowed. ‘Your Majesty, I was content to wait at your pleasure – I know my arrival was unexpected. I pray the spirit in the bone is strong.’

‘So it remains, and always will.’ Queen Arkoro inclined her head. ‘This is my consort, King Padar of Kawontay.’ She placed a delicate hand on his. ‘You speak Sepuli, then.’

‘Not especially well, Your Majesty. Forgive me.’

‘I do not know your language, either. How is your Lacustrine?’

‘I write Lacustrine better than I speak it, but I should manage.’

‘Lacustrine it shall be.’

Dumai nodded. She would not need Nikeya.

King Padar gave her a fleeting smile. ‘Please, Your Highness, sit.’ Dumai did. ‘We are intrigued to meet you. Perhaps you would care for refreshment. Kelp tea is a speciality of Mozom Alph.’

‘You are kind.’

A servant brought a dish of pressed sweets, shaped like shells, and served a pale tea, salting it for King Padar.

‘I know you may wish to see proof that I am who I claim,’ Dumai said. ‘My father would have written to you in advance, but there was no time.’

‘I received the letter you gave to my Royal Guard. Emperor Jorodu was clearly reluctant to explain your purpose here – for fear of interception, I assume – but he empowers you to speak on his behalf,’ Queen Arkoro said. ‘He also said you would carry his Privy Seal.’

Dumai presented it to her. The queen looked at it for some time, turning it with slender fingers.

‘Thank you.’ She handed it back. ‘Perhaps you don’t know, but we are distantly related.’

‘I had no idea, Your Majesty.’

‘Your paternal grandfather was a member of Clan Mithara. That line was founded by a Sepuli prince, who voyaged long ago to Seiiki. You are welcome here.’

‘Thank you. I know there have been no official visits for several generations.’

‘I do admit surprise at your arrival. We have traded, of course, but the House of Noziken has seemed content to keep to itself, by and large. When letters have come, they have been from an official named Kuposa pa Fotaja, the River Lord.’

‘This River Lord must be a trusted counsellor,’ King Padar remarked, with an arch of eyebrow that belied his words. ‘We understand one of the riders who accompanied you here is also a Kuposa.’

Dumai glanced through the fine curtains at Nikeya, who was attempting to talk to Kanifa.

‘Yes.’ Dumai cleared her throat. ‘I am certain that my father would have sent a delegation sooner, but without our dragons, it has been difficult to cross the Sundance Sea.’

Her palms grew slick. She had been briefly educated as a princess, not an ambassador.

‘That has been true on our side, too,’ Queen Arkoro said. ‘But now your gods have woken.’

‘So far, only one. Furtia Stormcaller. May I ask if they are rousing here?’

‘Three emerged from waterfalls in the autumn,’ King Padar said. ‘Others, disturbed by divers and fishers, have chosen not to return to their slumber. Something has changed.’

‘I may be able to find out what. Furtia has given us a dire warning,’ Dumai said. ‘I have come here to share it with you, Your Majesty – and to act on it, with your permission.’

Queen Arkoro narrowed her eyes a little. ‘Then this warning affects Sepul?’

‘I fear so.’

Dumai told them everything, from her first meeting with Furtia to the sinister black rocks.

‘Furtia says she has sensed them here, too, and wishes to know their number,’ she finished. The two royals had been silent throughout. ‘She believes they will bring chaos and destruction.’

‘The gods are said to speak in riddles, but that seems clear enough.’ Queen Arkoro exchanged a look with her consort. ‘Does the Stormcaller know where these rocks might be?’

‘She did not specify, but those I saw in Seiiki were inside a fire mountain.’

It was a fire mountain that caused all of it, the voice in her dream had told her.

‘There is one here that still erupts – Mount Yeltalay,’ King Padar said. ‘It lies to the east, in the Broken Valley.’ He stroked his chin. ‘The gods that woke this year spoke of a risen fire, too.’

‘This mountain,’ Dumai said. ‘Has it stirred recently?’

‘Last year. Not long after, the sun darkened, and since then all the seasons have been strange, even outside the palace. In some regions, the crops will not ripen. There have been rumours of a significant eruption across the Abyss,’ he added. ‘Perhaps all this is connected.’

I am coming to you, earth child. We must leave, Furtia said, startling Dumai. It must be now.

Queen Arkoro looked concerned. ‘Are you well, Princess?’

‘Yes,’ Dumai said, lightheaded. ‘Forgive me.’ Her skin was cold. ‘If these rocks can unnerve a god, I fear it bodes ill for us all, Your Majesty. I ask your leave to fly to the Broken Valley.’

‘Even the Queen of Sepul cannot command a dragon. Furtia Stormcaller must go where she pleases,’ came the reply. ‘I think you have an affinity with her.’

Dumai slowly nodded. Queen Arkoro used her thumb to turn a gold ring on her finger.

‘The Broken Valley steams and rattles. Foulness spits from the earth beneath it,’ she continued. ‘After the last groundshake, my grandmother forbade anyone from setting foot there.’

‘I am willing to face danger.’

‘So I see.’ Queen Arkoro met her gaze. ‘Your arrival here may cast diplomatic ripples, Princess Dumai. The last time a Seiikinese royal landed on our shores, she came with a ferocious thirst for power. Your visit may also raise questions within the House of Lakseng.’

‘I understand. This is too sudden. If you wish, I will remain at the temple while Furtia searches.’

‘I will not disrespect your bond by separating you.’ She took a breath. ‘You have my permission to go to the Broken Valley – but I will send two of our Sepuli dragons with you.’

She stopped. Nikeya had come to the pavilion.

‘Princess,’ she said, ‘Furtia Stormcaller is outside the palace.’

Queen Arkoro considered Nikeya, her amber eyes difficult to read. ‘You must be Lady Nikeya,’ King Padar said as a servant poured him more kelp tea. ‘Welcome to Mozom Alph.’

‘Thank you, honoured king. I have long dreamed of seeing the Golden City.’ Nikeya spoke in fluent Sepuli. ‘Great queen, forgive my intrusion. Furtia Stormcaller is at your gates.’

Queen Arkoro raised her fine eyebrows. ‘Mozom Alph must be astir,’ King Padar said, sipping his tea.

‘I believe it may be in uproar.’

‘No dragon has flown here by daylight in centuries,’ Queen Arkoro said, ‘but they had to know at some point that their gods begin to wake.’ She rose, her sleeves brushing the floor. ‘Princess Dumai, time is clearly short. King Padar will escort you to the Broken Valley.’

‘Thank you.’ Dumai bowed to her. ‘I am grateful for your hospitality, Your Majesty.’

To her surprise, Queen Arkoro came to her and took her by the arms. ‘I would have a friend in Seiiki. Let us not be strangers again,’ she said gently. ‘Return here soon, so we might forge a long friendship between our houses. Farewell for now, bone of my bone.’

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