My will is iron.” Saff snorted. “Iron can be struck into shape if the forge is hot enough.” “Fine. My will is coal. Black and ugly and misshapen.” “But coal—” “Oh, shut the fuck up.” Nissa’s brandy-slackened lips twisted into a half smile, half grimace. “Metaphors aren’t my thing. Let’s just say I’m a stubborn wretch and be done with it.”
