If I were a good little Lamb, I would run. If I were the girl my father always wanted me to be, I would take the knife, drive it into her heart. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and pull down the collar of my dress. I push my hair back and bare the side of my throat, where the tracker is embedded, a tiny lump pressing up from under my skin. Melinoë’s eyes, steady and gleaming dark, stare back at me without blinking. Then, slowly, she raises the knife to my throat. I gritted my teeth, preparing for the pain, but it’s more panic that shoots through me as I feel my blood leap up against the
...more
