“I'm not fooled, assassin. You may think you are removed from us—that you have come to terms with your own mortality—but I still had to drag Sora out of your arms.”
“Yes, she was still breathing—and by the gods, he would keep her that way!”
“So you think it's funny to leave me in the house all day with Crash? That man is horribly unsociable, you know." This time Sora and Burn both laughed. Burn's ears twitched.”
“Crash smiled slowly. He didn't waste words while fighting. It was useless to taunt the dead.”
“I should have acted sooner. Saved him. It was in my power.” Her throat closed painfully. Then Crash did something unexpected. He sat down on the bed, his hand landing close to her face, gazing down at her intently. For reasons unknown, Sora felt her breath catch, her chest constrict peculiarly.”
“I don't..." Crash swallowed, "I don't want this to happen again." "What to happen again?" "This, Sora!" he said harshly. She sat back, stunned by the show of emotion.”
“Stupid girl, you should have let me die, he thought. Specks of light could be seen against the night sky, distant windows and flickering streetlamps. How many times had he wished for death, for a killing blow? But it seemed the gods weren't done with him yet.”
“Burn stepped up to the side of the horse and pulled Sora from Crash's arms. Crash was reluctant to let go.”
“He cared about the girl—maybe, partially, why not—but it was only because she was still alive. If she had been killed in the fight, would he have fussed over her empty body?”
“Burn turned to the doorway, his expression not exactly welcoming. "Finished sulking, have you? Pay your respects to our little heroine. She saved our lives." "I know," was the sour response.”
“I'm being sentimental, she thought, and turned to her room. He's an assassin. He doesn't care.”
“You almost died!” he said sharply. “Dorian is gone, and I don't want any more innocents killed—not at my expense, not at anyone's expense!" She looked at him seriously. This, from an assassin?”
“It wasn't in his nature to think in terms of friends or enemies, to
hold onto bodies, spirits. All beings were momentarily animated, but ultimately impermanent,
destined to return to their original state. The living are meant to die, his mentor had once said.
They are specks of dust, momentary flashes of light. In this way, you must understand—what is
alive now is already dead.
But...but the fields, the birds, the forest....
It is an illusion. Everything is Death.”
“A shooting star, a cloud, or some sign from the Goddess....? One second later, the world shattered. Her father's grumbling voice was suddenly cut off by an ear-splitting crashhhh! The skylight exploded into a million pieces.”
“He knew Viper well. True to his name, the assassin was as slippery as a snake in the grass.”
“Sora snorted. "Fine." "Any nightmares? Monsters in your dreams?" "No, surprisingly," she said. It was a lie. She barely slept a wink, flinching and starting at every rustle in the bushes. She muttered, "The only monster around here is Crash." Dorian's eyes widened, then he grinned, looking at her strangely, as though uncertain whether to laugh.”
“So who am I, then?" she asked instead. "Your student, or just a prisoner? Are you ever going to let me go?" He watched her carefully with venom-green eyes. The question hung between them, naked and vulnerable. Finally, he said "No.”
“A true human would have collapsed within seconds, but not this assassin. Instead, impossibly, he grabbed Volcrian's hand and twisted it back. Volcrian heard his bones crunch, saw his fingers twist into unnatural shapes.”
“the sickly smell of spilled perfume. Volcrian grasped the body, crumpled in front of the apothecary, cold and limp in the doorway. Petals were strewn around the cobblestones, glints of yellow, blue and white. It had been a horrible mistake. He had warned his brother—but his brother had not listened. He had hoped to meet him here on these steps, to convince him to leave the city, but he was too late. Etienne's enemies had arrived first. His”
“olden days, before the War, when Wulvens were powerful." But magic was dying for a reason.... Two days ago, a member of the nobility had bought a potion from them. A tonic to make a woman fall in love. But young Etienne botched the tonic; he had forgotten a key ingredient, and it hadn't worked as planned. Volcrian read of the woman's death in the papers: a well-respected noble Lady, suddenly”
“The Wulven mage wasn't moving, and Crash knew that he never would move again. He”
“How do you know my daughter?" ”
“It was too soon, too quick, too painful. She couldn't believe this was finally the end. Appropriately, it was still raining the next morning.”
“Do you mean to say," asked Caspian, "that you three come from a round world (round like a ball) and you've never told me! It's really too bad for you. Because we have fairy-tales in which there are round worlds and I have always loved them … Have you ever been to the parts where people walk about upside-down?"
Edmund shook his head. "And it isn't like that," he added. "There's nothing particularly exciting about a round world when you're there.”
“All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.”
“He was always boasting of his ancestors, as stupid people do who are aware that they have done nothing themselves to boast about.”
“By the side of the everlasting Why there is a Yes--a transitory Yes if you like, but a Yes.”
“Foes and false friends are all around me, Lord Davos. They infest my city like roaches, and at night I feel them crawling over me.” The fat man’s fingers coiled into a fist, and all his chins trembled. “My son Wendel came to the Twins a guest. He ate Lord Walder’s bread and salt, and hung his sword upon the wall to feast with his friends. And they murdered him. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter…but never think that means I have forgotten. The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home.”
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