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Prologue

           Yethisfool’sfaceleftnodoubtofwhohewas.ItwasthefashionintheFreeCityofVolantistotattoothefacesofslavesandservants;fromnecktoscalptheboy’sskinhadbeenpatternedinsquaresofredandgreenmotley.

           "Thewretchismad,andinpain,andnousetoanyone,leastofallhimself,"declaredoldSerHarbert,thecastellanofStorm’sEndinthoseyears."Thekindestthingyoucoulddoforthatoneisfillhiscupwiththemilkofthepoppy.Apainlesssleep,andthere’sanendtoit.He’dblessyouifhehadthewitforit."ButCressenhadrefused,andintheendhehadwon.WhetherPatchfacehadgottenanyjoyofthatvictoryhecouldnotsay,noteventoday,somanyyearslater.

           "Theshadowscometodance,mylord,dancemylord,dancemylord,"thefoolsangon,swinginghisheadandmakinghisbellsclangandclatter.Bongdong,ring-a-ling,bongdong.

           "Lord,"thewhiteravenshrieked."Lord,lord,lord."

           "Afoolsingswhathewill,"themaestertoldhisanxiousprincess."Youmustnottakehiswordstoheart.Onthemorrowhemayrememberanothersong,andthisonewillneverbeheardagain."Hecansingprettilyinfourtongues,LordSteffonhadwritten...

           Pylosstrodethroughthedoor."Maester,pardons."

           "Youhaveforgottentheporridge,"Cressensaid,amused.ThatwasmostunlikePylos.

           "Maester,SerDavosreturnedlastnight.

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