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

by V.E. Schwab

The merchant’s son was short on experience, but he had been raised on a steady diet of books. Not histories, or spell guides, though his tutors made him read those, too. No, his true education had come from novels. Epic tales of rakes and rogues, nobles and thieves, but most of all, of heroes.

She had hair so dark, it ate the light. That was the first thing the merchant’s son had noticed. Black as midnight, and skin the warm brown that came with life at sea. Eyes

“How lucky we are,” he said softly, “that after every winter, we are rewarded with a spring.”

“It is better than it was.” “A candle is better than the dark,” she said. “But it is not enough to warm your hands by. Not enough to banish the cold from your hearth. And not enough to light a city.”

Funny, how a place could feel empty when it was so full of things.