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dark
bad
Eerie.
magic
“What would a highborn prick like you know about it?”
Get him girl
“Would you still be able to take pleasure, knowing I was not enjoying myself?”
Slay
“The pretty one.” Rory’s eyes flitted to me. But the King’s finger, the knighthood’s collective gaze, was trained on Four.
Interesting
I glared back at him. “You’re remarkably difficult to like.” “You’d like me better if you called me Rory.” “I’d like you better if you were on your back again.” He smiled. An unfamiliar heat burrowed into my face. “From throwing you and your inferior strength down, obviously.” “Loud and clear, Diviner. I hear you loud and clear.”
Oop
I’m not one of your precious gods, Diviner.” His eyes flickered in the darkness. “I’m the one who’s killing them.”
Maybe that's why the girls are disappearing
I never complained, never said no. My worth was written by the rules I followed. But then the abbess called me resentful—a martyr. And maybe I am. But didn’t I become that way because her love cost as much?”
Damn
If he wanted me to clap, he could die waiting.
Hehehe
“I made my own vow that day. That all Benedict Castor had learned, all he had taught me, would not go to waste. That I would bide my time, use my family name, my strength, to make another Castor the king. A king who would take up the mantle, and this time, succeed. That I would taste more righteous kills, and paint my blade with Omen blood. After all”—daylight danced over the edge of her axe—“that legacy of hunters shouldn’t go to waste, should it?”
An icon
Affront her in any way, the knighthood will answer. Attempt to look beneath her shroud, she and the gargoyle will respond as they see fit. With full immunity to any carnage tended.” The gargoyle batted his eyes. “Oh, Bartholomew. He’s dreamy.”
True
“Pith, you think there’s something wrong with me—” “I don’t.” Rory’s voice was gravel. “I was wondering what it would be like. Watching you unravel.”
Um excuse me sir
“I have always been afraid to dream. Afraid to be watched by gods who lurked in shadows. It was my greatest shame.” I looked over the Oarsman’s heaps of gold. “But now I see you with my eyes. You are not a dream. You’re just a man, paid like a king to playact as a god. A facade, hoarding wealth, yet claiming to starve. You have no love for Traum, its Stonewater Kingdom, nor for the people who call you hallowed. Your glory may come from Aisling, but it was earned by the dreaming, the drowning, of Diviners like me.”
Slay
No honor among thieves, and even less among gods.
I want to get that tattooed
He held me in his gaze like he needed to. “Do you want to know how it ends?” “Does it end?” He nodded. “It ends a handful of minutes from now. After you’ve won, and there is one less Omen in the world.” He grinned. “It ends when you kiss me.”
AAAAAAHHHHHHH
“What other one?” I was wet, trembling, blood in my mouth. Just like a Divination. “You’ve seen another Diviner?” “She came as they always do. Utterly still.” The Omen came closer, his steps crashing over the platform. “Every ten years, they come.” He took another step. “It’s the only spring water I’m given—their blood.” Another step. “I have my strength to keep up. My hunger to sate. And so”—he was upon me now—“I take my fill.”
Bitch
A woman’s voice sounded. “Rory.” “No.” There was more pressure—a pounding sensation over my chest so violent the world quaked. “Wake up, sweetheart. Wake. Up.”
Not a nickname at this time
“So the king decides when I should bear pain and when I shouldn’t, so long as it serves him best?” I said it with the tastelessness it was due. “Not so different from the abbess, are you? From an Omen.”
Get him
forest
because when the great birke succumbed to the axe, dropping like a felled tree in the forest— It took Maude with it.
Bitch no
“That is unkind and unworthy, Bartholomew.” He’d been quietly crying in the corner of the room, and now appeared the spirit of righteous anger. “If you value your friend when he fights your battles for you—when he is rogue and ruthless—you must value him when he is gentle, too. Otherwise you do not value him at all.”
Slay gargoyle
Over my stomach, my ribs, up my throat and onto my cheek until his fingers, rough and calloused, caught on my shroud. “This too,” I whispered.
Oh we getting freaky now
People who love you for your usefulness don’t love you at all.”
Oop
“When you do the right thing for the wrong reason, no one praises you. When you do the wrong thing for the right reason, everyone does, even though what is right and wrong depends entirely on the story you’re living in. And no one says they need recognition or praise or love, but we all hunger for it. We all want to be special.”
Okay then prophet
“Thank you for bringing me with you. I don’t think I would have been brave enough to leave the tor alone.”
Stop. That's So cute
“I hate tight, dark places.” “Let’s hope you never die,” the gargoyle said. “I hear graves are rather constrictive.”
Hahaha
“I said be quiet.” The Omen showed her teeth, rows of cracked limestone. “I do not touch the Diviners. I lay them down here in my caves, my own little underworld, where the sea air has its way with them. It is the best burial I can offer.”
Oh so you're like chill?
“Losing something is painful. Sometimes, finding what we’ve lost is just as agonizing.”
Oof
“Bartholomew!” came the gargoyle’s echoing cry. The Heartsore Weaver’s breath went out. “That’s it. The foundling upon the tor. The first Diviner.” The newborn moths fluttered, their pale wings beating over stone. The Heartsore Weaver watched them with unseeing eyes, her last words quiet as a prayer. “Little Bartholomew.”
Oh girl! You better listen to his story now
“About fucking time.” He swung. His sword lodged in Rory’s side, into chainmail, into skin. Rory let out a sharp gasp— Benji caught his wrist. Took his coin. He shoved Rory to the ground and kicked him in his wound, then let the coin fly.
I knew it
“Where are we going?” the gargoyle asked again. He looked back at me. “We can’t go without Bartholomew.” I turned away, tears falling down my face. “Wait—wait.” The gargoyle began to sob, more pieces of stone falling from his body. “I’m her squire. We cannot be apart.” He had to be hauled away by Maude, who was already doing the same to Rory. I heard his wailing sobs on the other side of the wall. “Bartholomew!”
Why is this the saddest part of all of this :(
