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Almost a year ago to the day, I’d watched one of the queen’s men clad in beaten golden armor gut my neighbor for lying about his age. And before that, and far worse, I’d stood silently in the street while my mother’s throat had been split wide open, spilling jets of hot, peasant blood into the sunbaked sand.
Guerilla warfare at its finest. The easiest way to win any war was to create dissent amongst your enemy’s ranks so that they wasted their time and energy fighting each other instead of you. It was a smart move but an obvious one. Still, from the looks on the faces of the warriors surrounding us, Fisher was going to have some explaining to do.
“There are two kinds of forever, Alchemist. One is heaven. The other is hell. It doesn’t matter what I do. Make sure you choose your version of immortality wisely.”