Chapter 22 — The Silence of Marcus Pierce
Marcus Pierce was on the floor of Sierra's old cell, convulsing, with black foam on his lips and both hands clamped over his own mouth.
"He's holding it in," the guard was shouting. "He won't let us—"
The royal healer got there first and went in like a woman half her age. "Jaw! Somebody get his jaw!" Two guards forced the old man's hands away; his teeth were locked. She jammed the leather handle of her scissors between his molars and levered until something cracked, and the smell that came out of him made the nearest guard turn and retch against the wall.
"Frost-cap," she snapped. "Three, maybe four, seated in the back teeth. He's bitten every one at once." Her hands were already moving — charcoal paste, a tube down the throat, a knee on his ch
