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“My master is a cruel man,” the messenger said quietly. “If I tell him who you are, he will sentence you to death to save his own pride. He cannot owe the life of a murderer’s son.”
“Because the boy,” the messenger said, pointing to the bed, “is not like his father. He spoke of an ‘angel’ as he drifted. He has a heart that the city has not yet hardened.”
The messenger reached out and took a silver scalpel from the table. He didn’t use it on Yusha. Instead, he walked over to the fire and threw it into the hot coals.