Isiilde sighed, leaning against the rim of her copper tub. She stared irritably out the window, watching the silvery drizzle collect on the glass before it slid down in rivulets like cold tears. The bath helped, although her head still throbbed. She glared mightily at his slumbering mass and then stomped out of the room to do as he suggested. Isiilde narrowed her eyes, but he was already snoring, which infuriated her even more. Take a bath, drink some water, and let me sleep.” Maybe you’ll think twice before stealing a man’s grog. I’m not about to give it to you after your first rough night. “I had eight hundred years worth of hangovers before I discovered the potion and Marsais had eighteen bloody hundred years worth. “Can’t I have some of that potion you and Marsais drink all the time?” “That’s what happens when you drink too much.”
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