And she carefully braids my thick and black hair, weaving a wide ribbon into it, curling like a snake. And the scales on it are silvered in a scattering of small signs that they are full of ancient protection.

I look into the glass, large, mirrored, and I see that the light matter is burning like a crescent moon in my strands. I run my hand through my hair, and at the same moment I feel such a strange and desired peace.

My gods are with me...

Meanwhile Tarrum says to me:

“There will be illustrious lords at the reception,” he says.

I know little about them. Only that the...