“I assure you the thought never even crossed my mind, Lord.”
“Indeed? Then if I were you I’d sue my face for slander.”
Withel said nothing. Being Ymor’s right-hand man was like being gently flogged to death with scented bootlaces.
Let’s just say that if complete and utter chaos were lightning, then he’d be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor and shouting ‘All gods are bastards.’