No grave, just a corpse rotting at the bottom of the river. The sooner he could put as much distance as possible between Berelain and himself and Faile, the better. Janwin's creased face could have been carved from old wood, but it always looked that way, and if his blue-gray eyes seemed stormy, so did they always too. Bashere nodded.
Clouds of birds flurried in the air, gray and white and sometimes splotched with black, giving those shrill cries. Everyone's afraid to be seen near you. He was hungry, but someone in the kitchens had been in too much of a hurry; most of the basket was filled by a clay pot full of oysters, but the kitchens had forgotten to cook them. Servants hurried by, but Laren was nowhere in sight.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.