"Reset, Agnes. Reset. You are entirely too smart and attractive to be a mistress. Your baby will be even better looking," she told herself.
First pin. Click. Second pin. Click. Third pin.
CLICK.
The left entire cuff released. Her hand came free, and the sudden absence of silver on that wrist sent a rush of sensation through her arm that was half relief and half agony, the specific pain of blood flow returning to tissue that had been compressed and burned simultaneously.
She brought her left hand in front of her body. Flexed the fingers. They worked. Barely. The skin on her wrist was raw, blistered, carrying the imprint of the silver in a pattern she would wear for days.
"Excellent work, Agnes. Do it again."
The right cuff took forty-five seconds. She could see this one. The pin found the tumbler, set three pins in sequence, and the cuff opened with a click that she would remember fondly for the rest of her life.
