I think I would burn this, or bury it, if I were you. By the time she had given the shaggy mare a pat, and arranged her skirts, the palanquin was already moving toward the open gates, its horses stepping without rein or lead. He rubbed his nose and grimaced. Too horrible for anyone to admit to unless it was true.
His voice was deep, and as sad as his eyes. And the next. There, she said. The Black Ajah.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.