Chapter 161

Because the chamber lay close to the volcano’s throat, the dungeon was dark and damp—yet stiflingly hot.

This was no common cell, but a finely wrought stone room, furnished in warmth and luxury—everything a noble child might need.

By day Shireen had played with Patchface in the mud, so her face was streaked with dirt. Deep in the night she clutched her doll as she slept. At her bedside, Patchface sprawled on an ornate Myrish carpet, snoring piggishly, drool soaking into the weave.