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"If Father was concerned with our quarrels, he would not merely observe it from his throne." Dasque's voice carried across the room. She stood in the doorway, her dress shimmering silver-white. She wore a matching pair of gloaves taht reached past her elbows. It was noticeable that her left palm had been cut, the blood seeping through the fabric, forming a thin, red line across her hand.
"Either Baz'Auran feels we are prepared, or being unprepared for the Disk below is acceptable. There's naught to do but do as he bids, and if so, I intend to enjoy this meal. Did you help make it Llassar?"
Her shoes raised her up two inches, and her footsteps echoed as she drew near. When she walked near Jongo, she replied to his question. "It's an interesting question Jongo, but first you have to make sure you know what the first two were, so that you don't mistake the third question for the fourth or fifth."