“You are very like that ring, you know,” Philippe said, tapping his finger on the table. “It was another of Ysabeau’s clever messages.” “She wanted you to know she approved of the marriage,” I said, my thumb reaching for the comforting weight. “No. Ysabeau wanted me to know she approved of you. Like the gold from which it is made, you are steadfast. You hide many secrets within you, just as the bands of the ring hide the poesies from view. But it is the stone that best captures who you are: bright on the surface, fiery within, and impossible to break.” “Oh, I’m breakable,” I said ruefully.
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