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

by Rachel Gillig

A coin, an inkwell, an oar, a chime, and a loom stone. The sixth and final window was centered on the east wall—an enormous rose window, fixed with thousands of pieces of stained glass. Its design was different than the others, depicting no stone object, but rather a flower with five peculiar petals that, when I studied them, looked all the world like the delicate wings of a moth.

“Swords and armor,” came a voice, “are nothing to stone.”

Faith requires a display. The greater the spectacle, the greater the illusion.’”

“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.”

Silver moonlight painted his hair, his nose, the lines of his brow, and when Rory glanced down, I saw a misery in his eyes. I’m sorry, he mouthed. And just like that, another crack fissured in my heart.

“Good. If you fall in that water, I’m coming in after you.”

You are more special than you realize. I don’t even know your name”—he drew in a breath—“and I would do anything for you.”

My armor may dent, my sword may break, but I will never diminish.

It is easier, swearing ourselves to someone else’s cause than to sit with who we are without one.”

Maybe contentedness isn’t just a story.

“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.”