Theft Of Dragons (Princes Of Naverstrom) - Plot & Excerpts
Then he felt a distant, deep pain in his ribcage—in the area just below his heart. He glanced around and discovered he was lying on a cot in a healer's room of some kind. Strands of herbs and roots hung from the wooden ceiling. The walls were stone and covered with shelves filled with books and small wood and iron and bone miniatures of the gods. As his hand went to his breast he found a caked-on plaster over the deep wound, secured with a bandage wrapped around his chest. His arms and ribs and stomach contained many wounds covered with salves and small bandages, and at that moment he remembered everything. The girl he so foolishly played with, the music and the drink, his hands on her lips, the sweet taste of her mouth, and her knives blindingly fast, slicing out at arms and a body slow to respond. It wasn't even a credible fight. His movements had been sluggish and dense from all the wine he'd drunk. The only thing he'd managed to do was to swat away a few killing blows, dodge others, and knock her in the side of the temple as she'd snuck past his defenses and stabbed him in the chest.
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