delicate, unadorned by any gem or jewel. “There is absolutely no magic in this to protect you, I’m afraid,” Baltisse smiles. “I just want you to have something of me near your heart when you cut Vasteel’s from his chest.” Their eyes meet, and as Dawsyn clasps the thin chain around her neck, she feels energy pass between them, in the way that only two women can – like ropes tethering, connecting them. It is the kindred binding of girls that she has lacked since the Ledge, since her den of girls, and she smiles darkly, knowingly. “I’ll make it slow for you.”
