“Where are you going?” she demanded. “Who are you? And none of this ’tis a secret, ’tis a riddle rubbish.” “Whatever you assume, give it up. I’m no traitor. I’ve no time in my busy schedule for treason.” “You are a wordsmith, therefore a liar. I know what your tongue is capable of.” And I knew an opportunity when I heard it. I prowled forward, lowered my voice, and let the words drizzle down her skin. “Now, now,” I husked. “You haven’t begun to learn what my tongue can do.”
