Chapter Thirteen
It turns out that Arc doesn’t just need a ‘wee dram’ – he ends up downing half a bottle of whisky. Once he wipes his mouth and puts the bottle back on the whisky shelf in the Palace Guards Office – I didn’t know this existed until moments ago – he sighs and begins to speak.
“That bawbag really didn’t feel anything. I’ve never been in a mind like his. It was empty and full at the same time. Like it wasn’t all his own thoughts, like he was just a vessel and someone had filled it with their own ideas and commands.”
“The Morrigan,” I say darkly and he nods.
“Her traces were all over his mind. Her influence runs deep, much deeper than just creating him. She’s fed him her lies from the moment he was created, and she’s reinforced them every day. He’s been like a sponge, drink
