Quotes from Master of Crows

“You have done an unwise thing, Martise of Asher,” he said softly. “You’ve caught my interest.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“A companion," he whispered against her mouth. "A lover." He nibbled at her bottom lip, and his hand slid from her nape to cup the back of her head. "A beloved wife.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“And will you love me for a day? A year? A lifetime?" She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it in that beautiful, shattered voice.
"Beyond that," he whispered, eyes shining with the tempest of emotion he'd held in check until now. "Beyond the reign of false gods and meddlesome priests. Beyond al Zafira when her bright stars fade.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Don’t sing.”  He pointed a finger at her for emphasis.  “You’ve scared my dog, my birds and my servant with your yowling.”  He paused.  “You’ve even managed to scare me.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“He loved her to the point of madness, to obsession and even sacrifice. He wasn't Berdikhan, and he wouldn't make her Zafira. He'd rob her of her Gift, but she'd live. If he had to destroy Corruption, Conclave and himself, she'd live.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Martise, lower your knife. There are more than a few people eager to carve out my heart. You'll have to take your place in line.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Come in, Martise." Silhara's voice was almost sibilant in the darkness as he tagged on her hand. "There are no soul eaters here."

No, she thought. Only heart thieves.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“What in Bursin’s holy name is that?” he snarled.
If it were possible to die of embarrassment, Martise was sure she wouldn’t survive the next few minutes.  “I was singing.”
His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.  “Singing.  Is that what you call it?  It sounded like someone was torturing a cat.”
“I thought I might work faster if I sang.”  She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a gloved hand and regretted the action.  The swipe of citrus oil she’d left on her skin burned.  Cael continued to howl, and a door shut with a bang.
"That will be Gurn coming to rescue us from whatever demon he thinks is attacking."  The branch supporting Silhara creaked as he adjusted his stance and leaned closer to her.  “Tell me something, Martise.”  A leaf slapped him in the eye, and he ripped it off its twig with an irritated snap.  “How is it that a woman, blessed with a voice that could make a man come, sings badly enough to frighten the dead?”
She was saved from having to answer the outlandish question by the quick thud of running footsteps.  Silhara disappeared briefly from view when he bent to greet their visitor.  Unfortunately, his answers to Gurn’s unspoken questions were loud and clear. “That was Martise you heard.  She was…singing.
“Trust me, I’m not jesting.  You can unload your bow.” His next indignant response made her smile.  “No, I wasn’t beating her!  She’s the one tormenting me with that hideous wailing!”
Martise hid her smile when he reappeared before her.  His scowl was ferocious.  “Don’t sing.”  He pointed a finger at her for emphasis.  “You’ve scared my dog, my birds and my servant with your yowling.”  He paused.  “You’ve even managed to scare me.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“I don't need you on your back for anything Martise, unless you want to go star-gazing with me.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“He didn't think it possible to sign sewage-sucking-excuse-of-a-baseborn-bilge-rat but somehow Gurn managed.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“His warning amused her and revealed a hint of his unease in the upcoming meeting.  How interesting that a man didn’t always admire his own traits in another.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Such words only hurt when the person saying them means something to you.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“He snagged two more pieces of wood from her load for good measure. "Martise, bearing children is woman's work. Gurn and I would be sitting in the dark every night if we waited for some wandering female to pick up sticks for us.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Once his hair was smooth and free of mats, Martise ran the comb through it for sheer pleasure. He had beautiful hair, straight and black and falling to his waist. It spread across a strong back and wide shoulders, dampening his shirt to a transparent thinness. She slid her hand under its weight and caressed his nape with light strokes of the comb. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head in mute invitation for her to continue. He breathed deep, relaxing under her touch. Martise was anything but relaxed. She was on fire, recalling those moments in the library when he’d given her a taste of the passion burning within him. He was her dreams manifested, a bright and volatile star in a winter sky.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“I understand you’ve been helping Gurn. A comfort to know that while you can’t work a simple spell, you can at least milk a goat”

Her hands twitched before relaxing at her sides. He was curious to see if she’d conquer that urge to slam her fist into his jaw. It seemed so as she laced her fingers together until her knuckles turned white.

“Yes, Master. I’ve worked among livestock all my life, including cows, pigs, goats…and asses.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“A man with clear sight into his own soul will always make a wise decision.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Find your bed, Martise. I’ll be up for some time. This is bandit country, and we’ll each take a watch. Put your blankets with mine. We’ll stay warmer that way. And keep your shoes on. I’ll join you soon.” She’d grown used to him curled against her in sleep. Even the light snores purred into her ear comforted her, and there was always the possibility that when he awakened, he’d want her beneath him. Or atop him. Martise blushed at the sensual images playing in her mind. She prepared their bed as he instructed, crawled under the blankets—with her shoes on—and fell asleep. She woke when Silhara slid beneath the blankets and spooned against her. He laid his arm across her waist and wedged his leg between hers through her heavy skirts. His sigh tickled her ear. “Far better if you were bare, but this will do.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Raised in a brothel, I’d think such a sight common for you.” He approached her slowly, his gaze caressing her as he drew close.  “True.”  He drew a delicate pattern over her bare breasts and midriff.  “But you aren’t common, even if you do only have two breasts.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Martise had remained silent since first entering his domain, offering no hint of her character. If he refused her, it would alarm the priests even more.
“Martise of Asher.” He smiled when she stiffened. “His Grace has spoken for you during this entire meeting. Have you no words? Or did you suffer as my servant and have your tongue cut out?”
He followed her gaze to Gurn. The servant gave her an encouraging nod. Silhara might have considered her easily intimidated, save for that calm demeanor.
“No, sir, I’m no mute. It is rude to speak out of turn, is it not?”
He stilled at her question. Bursin’s wings, what generous god blessed this woman with such a voice? Refined and sensual, it possessed a silky quality, as if she physically caressed him.
The contrast between her dulcet tones and bland appearance startled him. Before she spoke, Martise had faded into her surroundings, forgotten. Now she shone, riveting the attention of anyone within hearing distance. He glanced at Cumbria who treated him to a smug smile.
He didn’t like being caught off guard and lashed out. “Far be it from me that I compromise the deportment of a lady. I wouldn’t tempt a well-trained dog into forgetting the commands of ‘Fetch’ and ‘Sit’.”
Her jaw tightened. She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the sparks of anger in her eyes. Not so docile as one might first believe, yet his new apprentice exercised admirable control over her emotions. Behavior of a long-time servant. Cumbria had indeed brought him a spy.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Did I please you?"
Silhara raised his head slowly to stare at her. High color flagged his cheekbones. His pupils swallowed the lighter black of his eyes. "Please me? You've vanquished me.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“The gelding held still when he took the reins, swung nimbly onto the horse’s wide back and patted its withers. “You’ve grown fat on plains grass, Gnat. This journey will do you good.”

Martise’s eyes widened. “Gnat? His name is Gnat?” She stared at the mountain of horseflesh, heavily muscled and big-boned, with a girth that would make riding astride a challenge, and he stood at least seventeen hands high.

Gnat swung his large head in her direction, as if questioning her incredulity. Silhara stared down his nose, the expression made even more imperious by his high seat on the horse’s back. “I didn’t think ‘Butterfly’ suitable.”

A betraying flutter rose in her throat. “No,” she said, eyes tearing with the effort to hold in her laughter. “I suppose not.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Martise blushed and lowered her eyes. “I meant no offense.”

“Ah, another way to apologize. You have an impressive arsenal of conciliatory statements. I’ve known slaves less contrite than you.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“How interesting that a man didn’t always admire his own traits in another.  The”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“He placed a finger over her lips. She held her breath when he clasped one of her hands, slid it down his chest and over his taut stomach before curving her fingers over the bulge in his trews. They both moaned when she rubbed her palm gently over his hard shaft and stroked his bollocks with her fingers. He was hot in her hands, a tempting combination of hard and soft. “I know what I see,” he breathed into her ear and thrust against her palm. “Know what I hold. This is what you do to me.” She would have fallen had he not held her up with an arm wrapped around her back. She sought his mouth, touched her lips to his. He opened to her seeking tongue, allowing her to delve inside and stroke his mouth. His tongue twined with hers, giving back as much as he took. He tasted better than summer wine, better than the first harvest fruits of spring. The kiss deepened, a mating of tongues that mimicked the slow thrust of his hips. His hands wandered over her body, sliding down her back, cupping her buttocks. They left trails of fire in their wake, and Martise moaned in his mouth.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“He broke the kiss. "Say my name, Martise." He snarled the command, but she wasn't afraid. His hips rocked against hers, and she was impaled on his cock, reveling in his fierce possession. For a few brief hours, he was as much hers as she was his, and she could tell him how much he meant to her in a softly spoken name. Every desire, every craving, every forbidden wish—she infused into her voice. “Silhara.” He gasped, a tortured sound, and his eyes rolled back. Martise clutched him to her as he shuddered, felt the sudden pulse of his shaft, his release followed by a wet heat as he came inside her. He hunched over her, chest heaving as he strove to breathe. She clasped his hips with her legs to maintain their connection, reluctant to give him up. He slowly lowered his weight onto her, careful not to crush her.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“The air grew colder and thinner as they rode through the mountain passes.  The sun was high and bright, but Martise wrapped her shawl tightly around her and pressed against Silhara’s back.  Gnat kept a steady pace, breathing harder in the thin air.  Unlike him, the mountain ponies suffered no effects from the rising elevation and clipped ahead at a swift pace.  Patches of snow spilled from embankments onto the rutted paths.  A brisk wind moaned a soft dirge as it whipped through the towering evergreens cloaking the mountainside.
Silhara called a sudden halt.  Martise peered around his arm, expecting to see some obstacle in their path.  The way was clear, with only the Kurmans watching them curiously.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re quaking hard enough to make my teeth rattle.”  He moved his leg back and untied one of the packs strapped to the saddle.  “Get down.”
She slid off Gnat’s back.  Silhara followed and pulled one of their blankets from the packet.  “Here.  Wrap this around you.” She had only pulled the blanket over her shoulders when he picked her up and tossed her onto Gnat’s back once more, this time in the front of the flat saddle.  She clutched the horse’s mane with one hand and held on to her blanket with the other.  Silhara vaulted up behind her, scooted her back against him and took up the reins.
“Better,” he said and whistled to the waiting Kurmans he was ready. Martise couldn’t agree more.  The blanket’s warmth and Silhara’s body heat soaked through her clothing and into her bones.  She leaned into his chest.  “This is nice.”
An amused rumble vibrated near her ear.  “So glad you approve.”  His hand slipped under the blanket, wandered over her belly and cupped her breast.  Martise sucked in a breath as his fingers teased her nipple through her shawl and tunic.  The heat surrounding her turned scorching.  “I agree,” he murmured in her ear.  “This is nice.”
He stopped his teasing when she squirmed hard enough in the saddle to nearly unseat them both, but left his hand on her breast, content to just hold her.  Martise was ready to toss off the blanket and her shawl.  Silhara’s touch had left her with a throbbing ache between her thighs.  She smiled a little at the feel of him hard against her back.  She wasn’t the only one affected by his teasing.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Don’t stay out here too long. Others may awaken and see you. I don’t want people asking me why my nephew is an idiot.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“What happened to that sad mouse of a woman who first came to Neith and leapt at her own shadow?”

“I didn’t love you then.” Martise stroked his cheek. “And I still leap at my own shadow.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Transfixed beneath the rays of a jaundiced star, he huddled against the crumbling parapet, fighting an evil the priests assumed long vanquished.”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

“Such words only hurt when the person saying them means something to you.” He”
― Grace Draven, quote from Master of Crows

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