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572 pages, Paperback
First published December 8, 2015
"The Sigil that Never Fades
The Quill that Never Dulls
The Cup that Never Runs Dry
The Parchment that Never Fills
The Blade that Never Fails
The Desk that Never Rots
The Spirit that Never Lies
With these tools our world was born,
And with them can be broken.
Or born again"
"'I'm not a thing to be kept,' she scolds, but it is soft, and sad, and kind."
"Sometimes, I forget that the Viceroy has torn her from everything she holds dear, from everyone she loves, and that Turn Hall and I will always, and only, be that place where she seeks to hide from the misery of missing her old life."
I resent him because he is out there being marvelous. And I am here, doing his job, when I have something of my own, something that I should be doing out there, being marvelous myself. But I am lanky, skinny, and somehow, at the same time, growing to fat. I am book-smart, but life-stupid. Father always said so. Kintyre always said so, and he is a hero. He doesn’t lie.
*eye rolls*
Who better for a spymaster than the man who becomes physically agitated when he feels ignorant?
I fidget until the kettle hisses, welcoming the excuse to duck out from under her odd gaze.
I understand. No woman enjoys my touch.
“I’m not a maiden in distress,” Pip snarls,
“I’m a woman, and I am damn well capable of rescuing my own damn self”.
It's not right to keep you a slave here, alone and unable to communicate to others that you're not here by choice.
I have been proved wrong! Do you know what that means? I have been proved an idiot by the world I love most.
You are so full of self-righteous ire that you never once so how much my love for you hurt me.
I am upstairs when I catch sight of the approaching cart and its cargo through the thick glass of my window.
“What I wouldn’t give to have a spy network as efficient and quick as the grandmothers of Turnshire,”
(More than once I have brought my Shadow’s Men to such evenings and told them to observe the spying techniques of those with more experience than them.)
like a particularly finicky cat: not sure if she should enjoy the sensation or not, but clearly desperate for the experience of it all the same.
I’ve imagined myself in places like this for years, wanted to be here, wanted to hear the stories and laugh and clap along, but I . . . there’s no place for me, because I’m not a white face, because I’m a woman, because of the kind of world that Elgar Reed wrote.”
I spent my whole goddam academic career championing female character agency, fighting against lazy writing that falls back on epic fantasy gender stereotypes and utilizes rape as a back story excuse, against the half-assed conflation of strong female characters with violent female characters, screaming myself horse about visible minorities in fiction and the normalization of queerness, and what does the world I love best go and fucking do the goddamn millisecond I get here? Slaps me in the face and ties me down!but the book frequently stepped over the line into lectures and I started to twitch a bit. They are no fun and I read fiction for fun.