“You’re sick… he and you, both of you. You’re sick, you’re…” was all I managed to say.
It seemed to amuse Álvaro.
“Oh, yes. They also thought Haydar was sick, you know, Johanna? Very sick. When he was born, he was weak. Different. They thought he would die young. But no—if his beloved brothers could see him now! The sickly cub, the smallest one. They always pushed him aside, like he was a common dog. They never imagined how much he has grown and learned. How much he has done—more than any of them sitting on their thrones surrounded by their women…” he began enthusiastically, though his energy gradually faded, clearly showing his body could no longer endure, and the pain was overwhelming him. “Maybe your dog friend has contacts with Haydar’s family. The elite always rub shoulders with the
