“Save for the pop and sizzle of flames devouring the literary wealth of the abbey, there was no other sound as Brenna and Jorand trudged through the abbey’s broken arch. Even the birds seemed to have forgotten how to sing. “Here,” Jorand said as he draped a wet cloth over her nose and mouth and tied it behind her head. “This will help.” It did seem to block out smells and most of the smoke, but Brenna’s eyes still stung. The wooden structure that was home to the nuns and novices, the veritable r...abbit warren of cells in which her sister had given birth, was a mass of charred rubble. On the far side of the tower, a smoldering pile caught her eye. When she recognized a set of blackened stubs as the remains of a human rib cage, she jerked her gaze away, hand to her heart. A scream clawed at the back of her throat, but she choked it down. She had to maintain an illusion of calm. If she collapsed in a keening heap, Jorand would certainly carry her back to the vessel and she’d never know the fate of Sinead’s child.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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