More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I know who you are,” he heard himself say. She went stone-still. “I know why the queen is hunting you.” She tensed as though bracing for the words to come. “Your scar. I was with you when you got it, Eisa.”
oh BET ?!
Jonas Svik needed to punch someone.
Bye I like don’t wanna read your POV you bitch
“Better I will die standing than live in collar.”
Fire ignited in her chest and licked up her spine. “You’re like a gnat!” He seemed to puzzle over the word for a moment until a smirk slid into place. “You want for me to bite you? I am not opposed.”
Stop fighting, came a voice, bitterness prickling through Saga. Surrender. I’ve surrendered my whole life. What more does she want from me?
Vig had mentioned a new hatching of chicks, and the idea had struck Rey. For days he’d racked his mind for a way to put a smile on Silla’s face.
Omg 😭❤️
Last night, she’d nearly slipped. Had been staring at the gnarled leaves lined up on her bed. But then a crate had slid under the curtain, a flurry of soft peeps meeting her ears.
“You’re smiling.” “Your doing,” was his only reply.
“You wanted to hold my hand,” he said sleepily. “I what?” “The day you earned your scar. Two-year-old Eisa wanted to hold my hand while walking on Sunnvald’s fountain.” “You must have been appalled.” “Disgusted,” Rey agreed. “But then you fell…” He exhaled. “And I felt such a fool, so prideful that I let harm befall you. When you cried, I carried you into the castle and found the healer. And while they stitched you up”—he paused, gathering himself—“I did not let go of your hand.”
The last thought Silla had before falling into slumber was that even after eighteen winters, she still very much wanted to hold this man’s hand.
Something heavy fell onto his chest, punching the air from Rey’s lungs. And he found himself staring into the blank eyes of a man’s severed head.
Fuck yeah Silla
Looking up, Rey blinked. Limned by the rising sun, a goddess with iced hair and crystalline eyelashes stood over him, a sword of shimmering frostfire clutched in hand. Silla’s eyes widened, the sword dissolving into the air like shining stardust. “Oh, gods,” she breathed, covering her mouth. “I’ve cut his head off.”
After a day spent thinking of reasons to avoid the executions,
Girl it’s probably gonna be Ana
“Shh,” he said. “Don’t speak. Save your energy, my brave girl. I won’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose—”
😭😭
“Forgive me,” he begged. “Please, Sunshine, come back to me.”
“You’re holding my hand.”
“Well, isn’t this sweet.” Silla jerked back with a sharp gasp. That voice. It was…no. Slowly, she turned to face the man who’d once been her safe refuge, her comfort. A person she’d foolishly trusted. “Hello, Curls.”
😬😬😬
“It was the last drop. I shall return with fresh wine in a moment.” “Would you like my cup, Your Majesty?”
Drink it you idiot
Come in, she whispered. Myrkur smiled, a cold, toothy grin. And then Silla surrendered the heart of her magic to the god of chaos.
Yikes
Rurik straightened quickly, green eyes sliding over her, assessing. There was no trace of the beast she’d seen in the ship’s hull, nor even the tattoos on his forearms. But Saga scrambled back into the farthest corner of the bed.
😬😬😬
