An hour farther north, the road divided at a pile of tumbled stones that marked the ruins of a small castle. He waved a hand toward Pate. Qyburn dropped the bloody razor into a pail of vinegar. Bone and blood and brain went everywhere, and the corpse fell forward, up against his legs.
One asked how a girl from King's Landing came to be selling mussels on the docks of Braavos. The pock-faced old septa was the first to bend her knee. 'Ton said you saw a singer. Erik the Just.
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