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Miss Chamuel

“Is he the child of great destiny?” asks Baldr. “Was he born under a blood moon to a woman whose belly was cut to free him, and is there a silver birthmark in the hollow of his throat? Did nine herons attend upon his first steps? When first he spoke, was it with the voice of seraphs or in a language dead four thousand years; does his touch heal or does a sword await his hand? Will he slay his father? Was he, in a word, foretold?”

“Hardly,” says Miss Chamuel.

“Good,” Baldr grunts, “I think poorly of prophecy these days.”

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