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332 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 26, 2022







Nothing is fair, except that we try to make it so. That's the point of humans, maybe, to fix things the gods haven't managed.
Marra had grown up sullen, the sort of child who is always standing in exactly the wrong place so that adults tell her to get out of the way. She was not slow, exactly, but she seemed younger than her age, and little interested her for long.
Nettle & Bone is what happens when all the overlooked bit players of classic fantasy somehow wind up on the main quest. It's funny, frightening, and full of heart; I loved it.
"Five of us," said Fenris, looking over at the others approvingly. Marra leaned down and scratched Bonedog's spine until his jaws clattered with pleasure. "Five is a fist. Five is a hand on the enemy's throat."
"I suppose that makes us each fingers," said Marra. She curled her own around Bonedog's spine, taking comfort from the hard ridges. "You're the thumb," she told the dog. Bonedog wagged his tail.


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She leveled a glare at Marra. “But don’t get any ideas. We’re here for a straightforward regicide, not to level the city.”
“Enough of this place,” said the dust-wife. “Everyone have their souls still? Shadows still attached? Then let’s go before that changes.”
“The brown hen stood on the death mask, which had split in two, looking as serene as only a chicken can look. As Marra watched, the hen lifted her tail, voided her bowels on the king’s broken face, and then strolled to the dust-wife’s shoulder with a satisfied cluck.”
“Nothing is fair, except that we try to make it so. That’s the point of humans, maybe, to fix things the gods haven’t managed.”
The trees were full of crows and the woods were full of madmen. The pit was full of bones and her hands were full of wires.
"Five of us," said Fenris, looking over at the others approvingly. Marra leaned down and scratched Bonedog's spine until his jaws clattered with pleasure. "Five is a fist. Five is a hand on the enemy's throat."
”Injustice and the desire for revenge age the body, but they keep the soul going halfway to forever.”
She did it in the end, of course. She had the same bitter feeling as when she had shoveled the stable – I will do this. You will not stop me.
[…]
Finally she stared at the mass of smoke and thought, I am doing a heroic task and heroic tasks are not done by half measures. It’s only pain. Kania’s pain is so much worse than mine. And she plunged her left hand into the mass of smoke and nettles and began to spin.
[…]
She thought she might start crying, but that would be to show weakness in front of the goblin market. For all she knew, there was a creature who would pull the tears out of her skull like teeth and sell them.
“How did you get a demon in your chicken?”
“The usual way. Couldn’t put it in the rooster. That’s how you get basilisks.”
The dust-wife turned back to Fenris and Marra. “You two will be better off making your own way. By which I mean that all this poorly suppressed longing is giving me hives.”
”Lots of people deserve to die,” said the dust-wife finally. “Not everybody deserves to be a killer… Watch a murderer go through the world and you’ll see all his victims trailing behind him on black cords, shades of ghosts waiting for their chance.”