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

by V.E. Schwab

But the world was suddenly quiet, and all she heard was the murmur of wind through the mostly bare branches. The rustle of it on brittle leaves.

She might have been thirteen, or twenty-three, depending on the light. She sat like a child and swore like a sailor, and dressed as if no one had ever taught her how.

“I didn’t know it was alive.” “It’s not,” said the apprentice, “strictly speaking.” In truth, she often wondered where the line was. After all, the owl had only been spelled to mimic basic movements, but now and then she’d catch him picking at a wing where the feathers would be, or notice him staring out the window with those flat rock eyes, and she swore that he was thinking something of his own.

and Tes finally had to close her eyes against the shine and tangle of so many burning strings. Beyond her lids, a shadow, as she felt them pass beneath a bridge, the brief dark like a cool compress. And then, the light was there again,