The lash wounds etched deep into her back had vanished. The ones that had cleaved her skin to the bone. Or had that been a dream, too? She had drifted into memory, into years of training in an assassin’s keep. Into lessons where she’d been left in chains, in her own waste, until she figured out how to remove them. But she’d been bound with that training in mind. Nothing she tried in the cramped dark had worked.
