Maxim Travel Books > Fantasy > Download Danse de Terreur (Le Soldat Chamane, Tome 7) by Robin Hobb PDF

Download Danse de Terreur (Le Soldat Chamane, Tome 7) by Robin Hobb PDF

By Robin Hobb

Jamère, prisonnier de son propre corps que commande désormais son double, Fils-de-Soldat, assiste, sans pouvoir intervenir, aux efforts de ce dernier pour convaincre les Ocellions de changer de tactique afin de chasser les Gerniens de leurs terres. Il rencontre enfin Kinrove, le plus grand des Opulents, pour tenter de le persuader d’achever sa danse et d’employer ses danseurs à former une armée en vue de combattre l’ennemi sur le terrain. Mais à cet rapid, une autre Opulente, Dasie, dans une sorte de coup d’État, s’empare de Kinrove et de Fils-de-Soldat, mettant en péril tous les plans de celui-ci...

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Additional resources for Danse de Terreur (Le Soldat Chamane, Tome 7)

Sample text

This . . ” She nods, searching my face for comprehension. ” “This is me coming because you asked. You want me gone, say go. I’ll leave knowing my word is still good. But it sounds like you need some help. You want it, I’m here. You don’t . ” I follow her lead on the mad dash through crowds that seem to part the way for the both of us. Four inches shorter than I am now and she still makes way through the crowd like a linebacker. 44 THE LIMINAL PEOPLE “It’s more convenient for everyone to think that she’s just some brat who wanted more attention and decided taking off for a few weeks was the perfect way to get it.

She is defeated. It looks like she’s stalwart and tough. But I know her better. She’s got nothing. The diplomat 36 THE LIMINAL PEOPLE is waving his arms around high above her head, trying to get the paparazzi to leave them alone. Yasmine cowers under him, but she isn’t that much shorter than him. Her knees are buckling. God, she’s beautiful. Fine. Maybe I can’t help her. But I can try. I’m special. I can do things. I know people. I’m seeing things in this photo that no one else could. She’s grieving.

But the picture, her huddled below her man, is a sham. Her eyes don’t turn that way, and her crow’s feet aren’t that close together. Someone doctored the photo. She didn’t seem distraught enough. That’s my woman. She doesn’t get overwhelmed or sad—she gets angry. The truth of the picture is in her hands. She’s grasping her man’s jacket tight, not for support, but to have something to grip rather than a photographer’s neck. The veins are tight, lots of blood coursing through them. She’s been working out.

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