Sublime

Syl alighted on Kaladin’s shoulder, taking the form of a young woman with a flowing, filmy dress, all blue-white. She held her hands clasped together as she looked up at the king’s complex, where Dalinar Kholin had gone to plan.

Lillian frowned. “Perhaps he’s waiting to meet someone. If so, it would hardly do Annabelle any good to go dashing up to him like a bitch in heat.” “Might you be able to come up with a more flattering metaphor, dear?” Annabelle asked mildly, and Lillian flashed her a grin.

“Is she nuts?” I mutter before taking another drink. Rhett snorts. “A little. But in a good way.”

Another echo of Estele. Stubborn as stale bread.

“I am Dulcinea Dearborn.” Morrigan swallowed a small sound of surprise.