Tower Lord

It’s always the way with great men, they can’t see the knives of those who live in their shadow.

Beware the seduction of the quick conclusion. Do not indulge in the answer you desire until you know all you need to know.

Mercy is the sweetest wine and the bitterest wormwood,” Eliss, the mother, said. “For it rewards the merciful and shames the guilty.

Is a lie really a lie if it is honestly believed?

I may not be the best Fief Lord, but I’m resolved to be the best uncle. And as a present to my niece I intend to find this priest and watch when you gut him. Would you like that?

Cruelty is in all of us,” he said. “But they made it a virtue.

He doesn’t address you properly,” she said. “Because I told him not to. Seems a little silly to stand on ceremony with a man who’s had his finger up your arse.

If the stars in the sky are not fixed, then nothing is fixed. Nothing is eternal, all is temporary and ever-changing.” She turned away from the stars, meeting his gaze. “Nothing is fixed, my lord. No course is so set it cannot be changed.

You hide it well, but I can see it, Lord Verniers. You hate us. We have beaten you to obedience but it's still there, like dry tinder waiting for a spark.

Nobility is a lie. A pretence that high standing comes from anything more than money or martial prowess. Any dolt can play the noble, and as you'll discover in time, daughter, it's mostly dolts who do.

What is broken remains so, it is the way of things.

You mistake purpose for cruelty, and I have always had a purpose. I am not mindless.

Lord Antesh,” Uncle Sentes said. “I see no recognisable flag of truce, do you?” Antesh pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can’t say as I do, my lord.” “Well then.” “. . . swift transportation to any land of your choice,” the Volarian was saying, the scroll held in front of his eyes. “Plus one hundred pounds in gol—” He choked off as Antesh’s arrow punched through the scroll and the breastplate beyond. He tumbled from the saddle and lay still, the scroll pinned to his chest. “Right,” the Fief Lord said, turning away. “Let me know when the rest get here.

Your realm is an insane place. In Volaria, no-one goes hungry, slaves are no use when they starve. Those freeborn too lazy or lacking in intelligence to turn sufficient profit to feed themselves are made slaves so they can generate wealth for those deserving of freedom, and be fed in return. Here, your people are chained by their freedom, free to starve and beg from the rich. It's disgusting.