Beneath her palm, she felt the wild thrum of someone’s heart. The whisper of breath stirred the loose strands of hair around her temples, and the earthy scents of tobacco and nettle enveloped her. Whoever they were said nothing. But Niamh did not need them to speak to know. “Your Highness?” She lifted the corner of the blindfold. Kit stood before her. “Are you all right?”
the hand flex equivalent methinks
