She summoned the magic—the drop of water her mother’s bloodline had given her. Mab’s bloodline. A tiny ball of water took form in her hand. Over the calluses she’d so carefully rebuilt. She let the gentle, cooling power trickle over her. Let it smooth the jagged bits inside herself and sing them to sleep. Her mother’s gift. You do not yield. When the Lock took everything, would it claim this part as well? This most precious part of her power? She tucked away those thoughts, too.
