The High Priest kept his words brief, but whatever he said, the words never reached Jocelynn's ears. Her eyes were filled with flickering flames that wrapped gently around the closest friend she'd ever had, other than her own sister.
Or perhaps, considering how shallow her relationships had been with the young noblewomen of the Blackwell Court, Eleanor had been the only true friend she'd ever known.
The women she'd called friends at home gathered to celebrate when times were good, and they made a show of consoling each other when misfortune struck. But as Jocelynn stood before the pyre, thinking of the friends she'd left behind, the misfortunes they'd confronted seemed like such trivial things.
