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Chapter Twenty-Five

“To end the slaughter,

Not dragon son, but daughter,

In the right hand,

Rivyn’s sword will save the land,

If the lamb chosen is wrong,

Love’s sacrifice will not be strong.”

The Seer’s words echoed hollowly around the room, and the vines behind her seemed to shake and tremble. There was a heaviness to the sound of them, a weightiness that implied meaning, and a ring to the tone so that it seemed she spoke from a great distance, and the sound carried to us from where-ever she was.

The delivery seemed to exhaust her, her chin dropping to her chest, the points of her headdress stringing out vine behind her like spiderweb. She became so still that I found myself studying her chest for the rise and fall of breath. If she breathed, it was so lightly it did not disturb the cloth she wore.

“Hmm,” Akyran hummed his sigh out through his nose, trying to sup

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