Nonar leafed through the pages of the notebook, trying to connect with the long-ago long-dead engineer who had worked with a different magic to sew worlds together. The drawings there were precise. Free. Accurate. Really, what harm would it do if she drew? What harm would it do if she couldn’t draw?
Perrin would have preferred to cleave off his own fingers rather than accept the commission the count was asking of him. But Marie was waiting, and she had made a request. “My wife believes that by seeing one of my statues, she might love me. If you would let her come to the château, see one of them...”