““No,” she said, not even flinching at his rough description. “I was only in the dungeon for a week. The ankle, the chain … He did that to me long before.” “What chain.” She blinked. And he knew she’d meant to avoid telling him that one particular detail. But now that he looked … he could make out, among the mass of scars, a white band. And there, around her perfect, lovely other ankle, was its twin. A wind laced with the dust and coldness of a tomb gnawed through the field. Marion merely said, “When you kill my uncle, ask him yourself.””
