What Feasts at Night (Sworn Soldier, #2)

by T. Kingfisher

Paying one’s condolences sounds well and good in theory, but in practice you have to walk up to a stranger and effectively say, “Ah, yes, that person you loved so much? Remember how they died horribly? So sorry about that.”

Angus didn’t quite wince when she said fairies aloud, but he stilled just a little, as if hearing someone cock a gun in the distance.

“May we always have the choice to err on the side of mercy,” I said, lifting my wine.