71

For ten minutes a heavy silence hung in the tent. Holding his hand on the elderly warrior's neck, Paraman mentally counted the beats of his heart and furtively watched his cousin. Next to death, anger and hatred were out of place. Karl knew this very well and skillfully introduced it into the game without making a single move. As always. Even now, having lost all his trump cards and standing on the very edge, the son of Lirdan behaved so confidently and calmly that Paraman involuntarily doubted that he really did not know about the networks that were woven around while he was building a path to power through Miel.

“Yakir sent a messenger…” Paraman finally said softly, breaking the protracted silence. “I want to know how things really are. I need time too.

Taking the needle, Karl exhaled slowly and made the first stitch.

“Lyramel lives and will live,” he replied. “But he won’t come to his senses soon.

- The reason?

- Many reasons. The Order is one of them. You know very well what
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