How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. But I have heard that he almost had to leave the schools. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow.
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