The Ragpicker King (The Chronicles of Castellane, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

“Those crocodiles are expensive,” he had said, “and eating Kel would certainly give them indigestion.”)

“For you, no. For him, perhaps. Has anyone warned him you tear princes into little pieces?”

It means ‘They are trying to prevent me from becoming what I am.’ ”

Conor’s voice, the soft drawl as familiar as the sound of the ocean receding after a wave.

“Do you think of yourself as easy to dislike?” He said dryly, “Charm is a skill anyone can learn, but one must make an effort to be charming.

‘But these people have no home; surely they will try to take ours.’ And I tell them to remember that those people are wrong. That we do have a home, in each other. We make our homes within, and not without; that is how we are different.”

I feel as if some part of me has been torn away. I feel as if I am bleeding, insensible with the pain of a wound no one can see save myself. When you are with me…It is the only time I feel whole.”

“I think you can hurt him more than he has ever been hurt,” said Kel. “And even if I cannot stand in front of him to block this blow, I can stand beside him while he endures it.”