The Crown of Embers

I love you the way a drowning man loves air. And it would destroy me to have you just a little.

A quarterstaff is not very subtle. Or handy. If an kidnapper comes at me, what am I supposed to do? Say, 'Excuse me, my lord, while I pull my enormous quarterstaff out of my bodice?

Given a choice between my life and yours, I will choose mine. Every time. Without hesitation.

Yes, I love him. Enough to follow him anywhere.

I lie awake for a long time, wondering which would be more foolish, to prepare for something that may never happen, or not to prepare for something that might.

You made me cut and dye my hair.” Surely he understands that we face greater problems? “I thought it would greatly improve your looks,” I snap. “Shorn hair is a sign of shame. You humiliate me greatly.” “I’ll light a candle tonight in honor of your dead tresses.

If I were an enemy, and I started bearing down on you like this," he draws his sword, stretches the tip towards me, takes a single step in my direction, "what would you do?" Possibilities race through my head. Should I look for a weapon? Dodge and come up behind his guard? Trip him? Insult his mother?

No, no." I motion vaguely. "Relax. Don't look so... guardlike." They drop formation at once, glancing at one another shamefaced. Hector draped an arm around my shoulder as if we were out for a companionable stroll. He leans down and says, "So. Horrible heat we've been having lately.

Mara hurries over and takes my hands. "Er, congratulations on your pending nuptials?" I whisper, "He'll be so angry when he learns I have engaged us without his knowledge.

The fifth place is for Hector.

I won't lie to you. There is always a cost. All I can gurantee is that it will be the right thing." "It's insane," he says, but without vehemence. "It's faith," I say.

It's nice to consider that God may not count imperfection as an obstacle to working out his will in the world.

But none of it will be real. None of them will want me. My throne, yes. Prestige. A conquest. But not me.

...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.

That queen of yours played me like a vihuela, didn't she?

I will not pretend weakness. Not ever, not for anyone.

You do realise, don't you, that I was present during the assassination attempt?

You faced him down like a seasoned warrior," he [Hector] says. "Only because I had your daggers at my back.

Well maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe you'll marry a man who is rich and powerful and wise AND wonderful to be naked with.' I can't help the giggle that bubbles from my mouth. 'Maybe,' she says, 'you should ask all your suitors to drop their breeches so you can inspect the merchandise.' 'Mara!' 'You could make it a royal command.' I toss a pillow at her.

Prophecy is a tricky thing, I have learned, full of edges and secret meanings and mischief. Prophecy can feel like the betrayal of a dear friends, the disappointment of a lifetime, the hope of a nation.

May I document your recovery? It's such a devastating and fascinating injury.

I love everything about him. I love that he cares so much about honor and duty. I love how, when he’s working hardest to mask his feelings, they’re actually leaking out all over the place. I love the way his hair curls when it gets wet, his slightly crooked smile, the way he smells. When he laughs, I feel it in my toes.

Blessed is he who walks the path of God. He shall stray neither to the left nor the right, for the righteous right hand guides him for all days.

Mara leans over and whispers in my ear, “I know you’re charmingly naive when it comes to matters of the heart, but you just stopped him in his tracks.

I cover his hand with my own: "The Champion must not waver," he says in my ear. "Yea, though SHE pass through the shadow of darkness, SHE shall not fear, for God's righteous right hand shall sustain her and give her new life triumphant.

Hector!” He whips around. “You were never, never, going to be just a diversion to me.” He sighs, nodding. “That was unfair of me,” he says. “I’m sorr—” “And you will kiss me again. That and more. Count on it.

For love is more beautiful than rubies, sweeter than honey, finer than the king’s wine. And no one has greater love than he who gives his own life for a friend. My love is like perfume poured out—

I make my hand my whole world. Hand hand hand hand. I push through the sand and light and heat, and with every bit of strength I have in me, I squeeze back.