She looked anxiously at Septa Mordane, until Jofftey leaned over and filled the septa's cup as well, so she nodded and thanked him graciously and said not another word. And suddenly the corpse's weight was gone, its fingers ripped from his throat. Othor had been a big ugly man, and he made a big ugly corpse. Did that surprise you, Father? he asked.
A hand of beaten silver clutched the woolen folds of each cloak and marked their wearers as men of the Hand's household guard. They laughed at that together. Or perhaps he had acted, and died for it. You are the blood of the dragon, little one, she whispered as her litter swayed along, curtains drawn tight.
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