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

by V.E. Schwab

She didn’t speak the language of spellwork, didn’t need to. She knew the language of magic itself.

She liked being alone. She was good at it. Had never trusted or taken to people.

Words had two kinds of power—the first in their meaning, the second in how they were said.

Lila couldn’t seem to choose ignorance, didn’t believe it would ever equal bliss.

“So in death we simply cease to be? We come and go, and then are nothing?”

“Just because we do not carry on,” said the priest, “doesn’t mean we haven’t been.

This will work, she assured herself. And then, aloud, “This will work.” She said it as if it were a spell, something willed into being.

“Your power is yours. Let no one else claim it.”

As far as she was concerned, family had nothing to do with proximity or blood. Family was a chosen thing. A label earned.

maybe it is nothing, or maybe it’s not nothing, but it’s not the kind of something you need to hear about either.…”