His fingers had stopped and they were touching a patch of faded blue, where ancient embroidery trailed delicately across the fabric, a vine, a leaf, a tiny, winged insect. Then he turned his arm over, and there, graven with needle and inks on the inner wrist, was the selfsame creature, the very first design he had requested when he was nine years old and determined he was a man.
Oh, well done! And that is how you pull together a plot point not only from the first half of this book to the second, but a small point in the first book in a series to the second. She is an excellent planner.
