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Maybe this place is exactly what the gryphon flier had called it—a death factory.
“Gods, you two.” Garrick shakes his head. “Do us all a favor and figure your shit out. I’ll meet you at the flight field.”
As if on cue, Andarna replies with a yawn, “And miss all the drama?”
Maybe then I can address the three books on the craft of weaving fabric into traditional Tyrrish knots he left for me—strips of fabric included—on the desk of my new room on the second-year floor. It’s not like I need a hobby.
kinky.
“Exactly. Does he strike you as a letters kind of guy?” She shakes her head. “He’s not even a talking kind of guy.” “We’re trying to work on our communication.” It comes out a touch defensive.
She clears her throat. “I read the reports this morning. There was no destruction mentioned.” Whose reports? The scribes can’t be trusted. “There you have it.” Markham shakes his head. “I think this is a good time to focus our discussion on the efficiency of propaganda and the role civilians play in supporting a war effort. Lies are powerful tools.” He would know.
How is it possible to both love someone and loathe them all in the same moment?
It was kind of annoying having this be the running theme of the book
“It’s fucking pointless.” She shakes her head. “Just another way to weed out the weaker—or worse, the unlucky.” “It’s not.” As much as I hate to admit it, the Gauntlet has its place here. “Seriously?” She reaches the top of the stairs and waits for me.
Rhiannon is correct
“Good enough show for you?” I draw back slowly, dragging my teeth across his bottom lip before releasing him.
vaguely reminded of ACOMAF or whichever one it is where Feyre and Rhys play it up on the throne
includes death or inconvenience.” “I will already know, as I am continuously with you,” he grumbles. “Forced to bear witness to the awkwardness that is twenty-one-year-old humans.” “I’ll strive to make it less awkward.” “Could you do so, I would think you would have done it already.”
Ridoc walks over slowly and rests his hand on my upper back. “The four of us stick together. That’s the deal. We make it to graduation, no matter what.”
someone here is probably going to die
Retrieving them could definitely get us killed.” Ridoc rolls his eyes. “Oh, good. I was wondering when it was going to start getting dangerous around here again.”
“And I’m not sorry I killed him.” Oh shit. I did not see that coming.
My lips part. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever needed to hear. “I do love you,” I admit in a whisper.
finally
Mira chose the black velvet gown with the square neckline and sheer, gauzy sleeves, but I know it was the deep pockets that sold her. I can’t help but grin as I see her tuck two of her daggers into the folds.
It had pocketssssss
“That’s pretty badass,” Sloane admits begrudgingly. “What happens if you miss? Do the bodies wash up on the shore?” We both pause, turning fully to watch Maren respond. Have to admit, I’m curious, too. Maren blinks. “Bodies? No one dies. It’s just like cliff jumping. If we miss, we swim to shore, dry, and shake off the embarrassment—and pick another branch for service. Infantry and artillery are popular.” Sloane and I exchange another look. “You just…swim to shore,” I say slowly.
did you know: it's totally possible to not have murder school
“And before you ask, it’s you all who are the weird ones, killing cadets on your conscription day.”
This goes against everything we’ve been taught. Squads are sacred. Squads are family. Squads are born after Parapet and forged through the Gauntlet, Threshing, and War Games. Squads aren’t merged unless they’re dissolved due to deaths—and we’re the Iron Squad. We do not bend. And we definitely do not blend.
this is just a list of hazing
see.” “How are we still having the same fight five months later?” I shake my head.
good question tbh
