The Daylight War (The Demon Cycle, #3)

by Peter V. Brett

The Hollowers did not have money, but again and again they came forward with things Renna knew were more precious by far. “Stood with your husband …” “… please accept …” “… Mairy Blower …” “… please accept …” “… husband saved my life …” “… my son’s life …” “… every last one of us …” “… please accept …” “… please accept …” “… please accept …” Even with her night strength, it became hard to hold all the baskets and bundles. Before long she felt like a Messenger’s pack mule, and still the folk came on, hundreds in the line. Thousands. Amazingly, it was a Krasian woman who saved her. She appeared from the crowd, covered from head to toe in black cloth in the southern fashion, but her eyes were kind. “What is this?” she said loudly. “A bride should not carry her own gifts on her wedding night!” Around her, everyone froze, and the woman, her tone one of comfortable command, pointed to a few of the women who had already given her gifts. “Find tables to lay them on, that such precious things not touch this ground, hallowed by the blood of your people in alagai’sharak.”