The Fragile Threads of Power (Threads of Power, #1)

by V.E. Schwab

she knew she was born right at the point where summer gave way to fall. Her mother said that was why she looked like she was caught between, neither here nor there.

Once broken, soon repaired.

A head gets lost, but a heart knows home.

As if people were just anchors, dead weight designed to hold you fast, drag you down.

“We all don clothes that do not fit, and hope we will grow into them. Or at least, grow used to them.”

He had a sweet tooth. She lived on strong tea. He had a smile that could charm a shadow into the light. She had a glare that could send it back.

“But what of our minds?” pressed Rhy. “Our memories? What of us?” “We are a moment, Your Majesty. And moments pass.”

“Just because we do not carry on,” said the priest, “doesn’t mean we haven’t been. We live a life, we leave a legacy. But the river runs one way, and we are carried on it.”

plunged into the warren of streets as if the darkness were a curtain, one that parted to let her through, and swung shut again in her wake.

She looked wild, and wind-made, and mad, and the sight made her smile.

“There is nowhere you go,” said the Antari to her prince, “that I cannot follow.”