“Everyone gets scared at times. It's only the fools who won't admit it.”
“Above all else, I think that you are a compulsive liar."
My laughter was tense, but sincere. "Hardly. In fact, I consider myself a compulsive truth teller. It's only that everyone else seems compelled to misunderstand me.”
“You wouldn't want to be king of my country," I said.
"Why is that?"
"Well, you're rather fat. I doubt you'd fit onto my throne.”
“You should thank me for tolerating you. I had hoped that becoming a royal would cure your foul manners."
"That's interesting. My father hoped that stripping me of royalty would do the same thing.”
“You're such a young king. I barely remember being your age."
"Then clearly we're talking about how old you are, not how young I am.”
“Her eyes scanned the dark skies. "Did it rain? Why are you all wet?"
"A nighttime bath."
"Fully dressed?"
"I'm modest.”
“The pirates wanted my life, Vargen wanted my country, and my regents wanted to paint rainbows over reality and claim all was well.”
“Erick: "I think I may grow to hate you before this is over."
Jaron/Sage: "But you don't already and that's got to be some sort of record.”
“Is it true?" Devlin asked me. "You're Prince Jaron?"
"KING Jaron, actually. News must travel slower amongst the illiterate." I glared at Gregor with every inch of disdain I felt. "Shouldn't you be groveling to me or bowing or something?"
Gregor smiled. "I think before I have the chance, you will already be dead."
"Ah. So much for all your toasts to my long life.”
“I need a sword first," I said. "People here keep taking mine.”
“I thought you were from a civilized country," he said. "How have you come to look more like Carthya's whipping boy than its king?"
"I have a habit of irritating some of our less civilized people," I answered. "But you seem like a civilized...pirate. I'd much prefer it if you didn't have me whipped."
"And why shouldn't I?"
With some effort, I forced a smile to my face. "Because it will hurt.”
“Long live king Jaron. If he leads us half as well as he entertains us, then Carthya has a truly great future ahead.”
“(Talking about Jaron's broken leg)
"How does it feel?" Fink asked.
"Like butterfly kisses, what do you think?”
“I won't start the battle, but if it comes, I'll finish it.”
“Fink had a full bowl and grinned at me as he sat back on the bench. "It would help if you used words like 'please' and 'thank you.'"
"Then I'll thank you to please stay out of my business.”
“Any chance we can bypass the cruelest method of death and settle this over a game of cards?”
“My hands folded into fists. "As king, that is my order."
"Forgive me, but the king's order is the most reckless thing he's ever said, which we both know is quite an accomplishment. If you want to stop me from dragging you back to Drylliad, then you'll have to kill me here."
"I can't do that," I said. "Who'll make sure Tobias gets back safely? He can hardly cross a road without endangering himself."
"I can too," Tobias said.”
“With introductions out of the way, Erick got down to the business of having abducted me.
"Why were you asking Fink about the priest?"
"I have some sins to confess," I said. "For ruining the life of the last man to kidnap me.”
“Finally I grinned and said, "I won't eat meat if it's been overcooked." She (Amarinda) glanced up at me, confused, and I added, "I thought you should know that, since we're going to be friends now."
Amarinda's smile widened. "I think it's unfair that women aren't allowed to wear trousers. They seem far more comfortable than dresses."
I chuckled. "They're not. Every year I think fashion invents one more piece I have to add to my wardrobe."
"And one more layer to my skirts." She thought for a moment, then said, "I think it's funny when you're rude to the cook. I shouldn't admit that, but his face turns all sorts of colors when you are and there's nothing he can do about it."
"He can overcook my meat.”
“Kerwyn pulled me aside as the last of the supplies were being loaded. "Please, Jaron, don't go."
Despite his pleas, I could only shake my head. "There's no other choice now."
"I thought a little sleep would change your mind."
Placing my hand on Kerwyn's shoulder, I said, "I had the same concern, so I kept myself awake.”
“By now, Gregor had recovered. "Sage? Devlin, forgive my accusation, but you are a fool. Don't you know who this is?"
Devlin didn't appear to forgive the accusation. With a sneer on his face, he folded his arms and said, "Enlighten me."
Gregor looked at me and frowned. "He can perform the Avenian accent as well as his own Carthyan tongue. And although he has a reputation for being able to steal the white off snow if he chooses to, this boy is far from being a mere thief. Devlin, you are facing the boy who has haunted the pirates for the past four years. This is Jaron, the lost prince of Carthya.”
“And I want you to find something in the hills for the vigils to protect, like a rock or a thornbush. I don't want them around here.”
“Do you laugh at me?"
He was quiet for a moment and finally the tention drained from him. "No, Jaron," he said darkly. "I curse you with every breath I exhale, but I do not laugh.”
“How is it that you can see your enemies so clearly and never your friends?”
“Let's begin with an easy agreement. Before his death, your father and I were negotiating for a small area of land on our borders, near Libeth. The Carthyan land has a spring that my farmers need for their crops. Carthya has other spings nearby, so you won't miss it."
"My father wouldn't have missed it, but I would," I said, with no actual idea of what spring he meant. "It happens to be my favourite water source in all of Carthya, and I won't part with it.”
“You'll address me by my title," I said sharply. "And bow until your pointed chin scrapes the floor.”
“As they began to tie me, I wanted to yell out, to release some of my fear that way, but I held it in. Imogen wouldn't be that far from here yet, and I didn't want her to know what was about to happen.
If it was possible to scream on the inside, though, I was, and the sound of it was deafening.”
“Wherever our lives lead us, one thing is certain. You and I will always be connected. You might be able to deny that, but I can't. Even I am not that good a liar.”
“I replied with an Avenian accent. "Is the priest of this church still here?"
"No." He squinted at me. "Never seen you before. You from out of town?"
"I've never seen you before either," I said. "So maybe you're the one from out of town."
That amused him. "My name is Fink. Well, that's not really m name, but it's what everyone calls me."
"What's your name, then."
"Dunno. Everyone just calls me Fink."
"Don't you have anywhere else to go?"
"Not really. Why d'you want the priest?"
"A doctrinal question. What punishment does the Book of Faith recommend for a kid who's being too nosy?”
“I can't do that," I said. "Who'll make sure Tobias gets back safely? He can hardly cross a road without endangering himself.”
“I looked into his eyes and then down at his mouth before continuing. “Have you ever noticed how pretty and beautiful words can be? How easy it is to say the things you think someone wants to hear. How you can affect a person’s entire day with just a few measly sentences?”My slight smile dropped. “But when you don’t follow them up with any action, they’re completely pointless. They’re just sounds and syllables. But they mean absolutely nothing.” My gaze glossed over as my mind wandered.”
“I am very fond of the theatre. If I have only a kopeck in my pocket, I always go there. Most of my fellow-officials are uneducated boors, and never enter a theatre unless one throws free tickets at their head.”
“The fact that he was willing to sacrifice his own face in order to keep mine from getting bashed in”
“Seth and I used to like to picture how our world would look to visitors someday, maybe a thousand years in the future, after all the humans are gone and all the asphalt has crumbled and peeled away. We wondered what thise visitors would find here. We liked to guess at what would last. Here the indentations suggesting a vast network of roads. Here the deposits of iron where giant steel structures once stood, shoulder to shoulder in rows, a city. Here the remnants of clothing and dishware, here the burial grounds, here the mounds of earth that were once people's homes.
But among the artifacts that will never be found - among the objects that will disintegrate long before anyone from elsewhere arrives - is a certain patch of sidewalk on a Californian street where once, on a dark afternoon in summer at the waning end of the year of the slowing, two kids knelt down together on the cold ground. We dipped our fingers in the wet cement, and we wrote the truest, simplest things we knew - our names, the date, and these words: We were here.”
“You’ve got all my firsts,” he said. “All the ones that matter.”
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