“Very good,” Isaak said. He tugged on her hair. “Your ribbons?” She turned her head, swallowing hard. Her mother had done her hair herself. Isaak ran his fingers over the ribbons and the pearls threaded through them, which really were not pearls at all. They were poison. “And your boots?” he asked. She got up, using her father for balance as she turned and lifted her heels, showing him one boot heel, then the other. He tapped them, checking the knives. “And Maryse,” Severin said. “If one of them tries to kidnap you?” She hated this question most of all. “They are not to succeed,” she said
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