What Stalks the Deep (Sworn Soldier, #3)

by T. Kingfisher

“That is horrifying and I want to go home,” I said, although I pronounced it, “Ah. I see.”

That boredom and terror are bedfellows is of no surprise to any soldier.

“Christ’s blood, now what?” I asked. Kent appeared and pressed coffee into my hands. I blessed him and all his kin and swore undying fealty to his house.

Not-Oscar stood very still, holding his slate, and probably it was unwise to project human emotions on what was effectively some kind of a land jellyfish, but he seemed forlorn. I suppose nobody yells at you when you’re a jellyfish.

I held up both hands and stepped between them, in the pose colloquially known as “the first one to get punched.”

My only defense is a fundamental belief that dogs are inherently good and Thunder must therefore be good and if he hadn’t liked me, it was probably a failure on my part.)