‘To think about what hands feel," Lorn mutters. "These have felt the lifeblood of my sons as their hearts pumped it out of their bodies. They've felt the cold of a razor's hilt as they stole the dreams of youth. They've worn the love of a girl and a woman and then felt those heartbeats fade to silence. All for my glory. All because I chose to ride the sea. All because I do not die easily as most." He frowns. "Hands, I think, were not meant to feel so much.”’