She chewed on her lip. She wished for a day when they could do this, go through these motions, without reminding her of the worst of it. “If they draw arms,” she said, her voice high-pitched and nervous, “I am to run to the cellar—not the nice cellar, but the root cellar below—and bar the door. There I am to await my guard. I am to wait, no matter what happens, for someone to come for me.” “And?” Severin prompted, eyebrow raised. “Whoever comes must know the recitation of the Isle’s holy verses,” Maryse said. “And I can’t keep picking the twenty-seventh verse, just because I like it, as that
...more
