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

by Rachel Gillig

A coin, an inkwell, an oar, a chime, and a loom stone.

“Ever but visitors,”

“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?”

“You don’t have to be good, or useful, for someone to care about you.”

“What will you do with it?” I asked the Oarsman. “Your great wealth?” “Do with it?” He frowned, as if he did not understand the question. “Measure time by its growth, I suppose.”

She will die without ever having lived. And then it was nightfall of the third day, and there was no more time to train, no more time to prepare— And hardly any to live.

I’m sorry the people who best understood what you’ve endured were taken from you, and that so much of living without them feels like dying.

“I have no use for stories.” My eyes grew unfocused behind my shroud. “Tragedy and desolation are right here with me.” “Yes.” He went back to humming to himself. “But I am here, too, Bartholomew.”

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.”

People who love you for your usefulness don’t love you at all.”

“It’s hard to see who I am when I am lost in what’s expected of me.”

“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.”

But is it godly to punish your subjects for questioning you? Is it motherly to demand resolute devotion?”

“To the faithless, a god is a monster.