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“When he meets my eyes, his expression is anguished. He cannot help me. I fight as they press me down to the floor. Bite when they try to pry open my mouth. But it's all for nothing. Two soldiers hold my wrists, and a third hooks a barbed instrument through the end of my tongue. He pulls it taut. Then a fourth begins slicing through it with a curved dagger. The sharp, searing pain makes me want to cry out, but I cannot with my tongue nailed in place. My mouth goes from dry from being held open to full of blood. Flooded with it. Gagging. Drowning. I choke as they release me, the scream dying in my throat. Scarlet flows over my chin. When I move, flecks of red fly. The pain swallows me whole so that I barely can concentrate, but I know I am losing too much blood. It spills from between my lips, slicks my neck, stains the collar of my dress. This is going to kill me. I am going to die, here on the ice floor of the Citadel.” — Holly Black