The Knight and the Moth (The Stonewater Kingdom, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

Sharp features. Dark brows. A prominent nose. His skin was olive, golden from sun, yet there was no warmth in his face. Light caught along three gold bands pierced into his right ear. Severe, rimmed in charcoal, his eyes were so brown they might easily be mistaken for black.

Ok face card

“Must be something special.” Smoke bloomed from the part in his lips. “Being a Diviner.” He didn’t sound like he thought it was special. “It’s a privilege to Divine. To be Divined for, too. You might know that, had you bothered to attend the ceremony.” “You noticed me go, did you?” “Difficult not to, what with the show you made.”

I love you, sexy smoker knight

I looked down at my wet Divining robe, thin and clinging. Lecher. “Why does the king have spring water in that flagon?” “Don’t know what you mean.” “I could smell it.” “You sure you weren’t just smelling yourself? You reek of Aisling.” The knight was tall—but he did not wield it. Knees bent, he kept his weight pitched forward in a lazy slouch, like it was a labor standing at full height.

Gillig is so fucking good with her dialogue and descriptors it's all so fucking delicious

He took another drag off the branch he was smoking, then held it out to me. “Here.” “What is it?” “Petrified idleweed. It’ll help with the nausea. With the discomfort.”

I love you fantasy weed

He smiled back, equally hostile. His teeth were white, straight—except the front bottom three, which were crowded. A pallid row of disorganized soldiers. Were he to bite me, I imagined the indent would be as unique as his fingerprint. What a horrible thought.

quick play daddys home by usher

Not in my ten years at Aisling had someone dared speak to me this way. What a vile man, unworthy of his station. I’d known it from the moment I’d clapped eyes on him that he was crude. Indecent. The foulest knight in all of Traum.

Im feeling crazy

“Rodrick Myndacious.” He winced, like he’d strung an out-of-tune fiddle. “Rory.”

Ah fuck its so over

“Only Diviners dream,” I said. “But what is a Diviner, really? A foundling?” He looked me up and down. “The abbess strips you of name, face, clothes, distinction—cloisters you to the cathedral grounds, where you are destined to drink blood and drown and dream. You know of the Omens and signs and how to look down your nose at everyone, but nothing of what really goes on in the hamlets. Nothing of the real Traum that awaits you the moment your tenure is up—which, given your age, can’t be too long now.” He sucked his teeth and grinned at me in a way that was not at all friendly.

another thing Gillig does so well is effective world-building!!! She is so incredibly talented!! I am enraptured!!

He’d drawn fresh charcoal around his eyes and secured his black hair with a strip of leather.

Long hair and eyeliner??!!! Long??!! Hair??!!!! AND eyeliner???!!

“And you call wasting your time dreaming of signs living, Diviner?” I slapped the spoon out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, and I leaned in, lifting the dull end of my chisel to his nose. “What would a highborn prick like you know about it?” Rory held perfectly still. He lifted his gaze to my shroud. He was looking for my eyes. For a target. But he couldn’t find one. He wrapped his fist around the chisel’s stem, dropping his voice to that low, gravelly rasp. “Point this thing in my face again and it’s mine.” “I’d sincerely enjoy watching you try to take it.”

I’m so sat its insane ive never been so sat in my life

“Creatures of the land can’t be trusted. There’s no room for mercy, even for the little ones. Large or small, handsome or monstrous, all sprites are violent and impossible to control.”

Oh that's not-

“No one back home in the Peaks is going to believe I fucked a Diviner.” What little desire I felt fled my body. How rough the tree suddenly felt against my back. How cold his gauntlets over my skin, how brutal his armor between my legs.

WOW

“I wouldn’t worry over it. Knights are shooting stars, Six. They come and go. But you and me, our sisterhood of Diviners—we’re the moon.” She smiled. “We’re eternal.”

Love love love

King Castor’s finger, slightly wobbly, pointed once more. “The pretty one.” Rory’s eyes flitted to me. But the King’s finger, the knighthood’s collective gaze, was trained on Four.

Screaming

Rory leaned forward. “Go ahead,” he murmured. “Hit my side. Hit me where I’m weak. Hit me as hard as you can.” “If I let you win,” I said, a little breathless, “you won’t come to Aisling for a Divination. I’ll never have to see you again. That’s a victory in itself.” “Let… me… win.” His lips curled at the corners. “You are nervous. Why’s that, Diviner? Thinking of kissing me, too?” “I’d rather put you on your back.”

Im going fucking insane

“I see.” Oh—he was upset. His bottom lip was trembling, and so were the tips of his wings. He balled his hands to fists and pressed them to his eyes.

my heart is breaking for this gargoyle

“I need your blood, you dunce.” “Surely that’s just performative.” “If it means something to me, then it’s not a performance.” Rory paused. Slowly, he brought his hand to his mouth—and bit the pad of his thumb.

FUUUUUCCCCKKKK

A line drew between Rory’s brows. He held out his hand and I took it—his skin rough and warm—bringing it to my mouth. “What name, with blood, would you give the Omens?” I whispered. “My name is Rodrick Myndacious.” With shocking gentleness, Rory pressed his bloodied thumb to my lips. The sound of his exhale thrummed through the cathedral. “What’s yours?” The grooves of his thumb scraped over my bottom teeth. I tasted salt and copper, but there was so little blood that I did not suffer to swallow it. Rory’s skin grazed the tip of my tongue, stirring the answer that waited there. Sybil, I almost said, the word an ancient stone at the bottom of a deep, dark well. Once, my name was Sybil Delling.

Fucking exquisite

“Which is more intricate?” he mused. “The designs of men, trying to reach gods, or that of gods, trying to reach men?” My hammer collided with a chunk of granite. “What is either to the intricacies of women, who reach both?”

Yesssss mama open the schools!!!

“Threw you on that bed easy enough, too,” he murmured.

This is slutty

“It belonged to him right up until five days ago when we went to Castle Luricht, challenged him to his craft, and used it to kill him. As to the accusation—I’m not one of your precious gods, Diviner.” His eyes flickered in the darkness. “I’m the one who’s killing them.”

Waaaaiiiittt i'm gagging

He seemed at ease, like whatever disquiet warring within him had been spent in combat— And then he saw me. He went still, mouth half-open. There was blood on his bottom lip. Some near his left brow as well. The charcoal around his eyes was smeared, staining his sweat black. I’d never seen a knight so filthy—so physically degraded by his craft. He looked entirely ignoble.

Bark bark bark

Rory rolled his eyes. Brought his wax-laden thumb to my mouth. “You don’t like it when I’m a bad knight,” he muttered, “and you don’t like it when I’m a good one.” I reached out. Smudged blood he’d shed sparring from his own bottom lip and wiped it on my dress. “Have you considered that’s because I don’t like you at all?” There it was again. The stain of a flush upon his olive cheeks. “Yeah. I’ve considered that.”

HELLO

“You’re nervous,” I said, grinning. “Why is that?” “Don’t flatter yourself.” “But you’re blushing. Dying to fidget with that stolen coin in your pocket, maybe. Touching a Diviner must make your heretical heart truly uneasy—” Rory came toward me until our noses were flush, speaking within an inch of my mouth. “You know what I think?” he murmured. “I think you like that I’m a bad knight. It’s why you feel so righteous, flaying me with your tongue—why you enjoy throwing me down and grinding your heel into my pride. It does something to you.” He wet his bottom lip. “I’d bet my oath your whole body is awake right now, aching and eager at the thought of putting me in my place.”

HEEELLLLLOOOOOO

“You want to throw me down,” Rory said, eyelids dropping as he whispered into my parted lips. “And I, prideful, disdainful, godless, want to drag you into the dirt with me.”

Woooahhh where'd my pants go

“You’ve never finished.” “Not with another person.”

Ugh boo tomato tomato tomato

I pulled myself upright. Reached for his cheek—dragged the corner of his mouth up with my thumb until he wore an absurd half smile. “That’s better. Still foul and unknightly, though.” “Just the way you like me.” Rory nipped the pad of my thumb. “Now run it again.”

I cant breathe

Rory caught my arm with his free hand and wrenched me forward until it was my forearm, not my palm, pressing against his neck. “Up close is better. More control, less room for him to hit you or knock you aside.” Embers stoked his voice. “Lean forward.” My thighs flexed around his ribs. “I’ll choke you.” “As if you haven’t imagined a thousand ways to strangle me.” He bucked his hips and my weight shifted forward, my chest falling flat over his, my forearm pressing into his throat. “Good.” Rory’s breath caught. “Just like that.”

WHHHEEWWWWW

He was getting better at finding my gaze through my shroud. “I didn’t—if you were sleeping, I didn’t—” He rolled his eyes. For once, the gesture seemed directed at himself. “I wasn’t trying to wake you.”

I love to have someone want me to the point of aggravation

I looked down at my hand. The marks from Rory’s teeth were still there. I’d been right—the bottom row looked like a crooked, crowded line of soldiers, unique as a fingerprint, as a line of stars. I lifted my palm. Put it to my mouth. Ran my lips over the indents.

Rachel you've outdone yourself

He knew. He always seemed to open a door to himself the moment I needed somewhere to go. Rory brought my bloodied thumb to his lips and said what I’d said to him—to thousands of others—from Aisling’s spring. “What name, with blood, would you give me?” I put my thumb to his lips. “My name is Sybil Delling.” His face broke open, as if I’d taken my chisel to his derision and shattered it. Rory ran the grooves of my thumb over his crooked bottom teeth, over his tongue, taking my blood into his mouth like it was something holy.

Yeah eatinggg it up

“It’s heavy,” I murmured. “My armor.” “I know.” He took a step back, eyes dropping to my mouth. “Let me help you.” He began with my pauldrons. Clasps were undone—armored plates removed first from my shoulders, then arms.

Hell yeah hell yeah