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I wasn’t angry. Anger was a fool’s emotion. It made you slow and stupid. What I felt was hatred. Cold, sharp, precise.
Sometimes mercy can get you further if you give it at just the right time.
“No,” I said firmly. “You don’t use it. I’ve got—” I wiggled my fingers. Asar stared flatly at me. “What?” “Death touch! Magical death touch!” He looked unimpressed. “Forgive me if I’m not exactly eager to throw you out there to go tickle the Shadowborn military to death.”
“For whatever of your mistakes, Mische Iliae,” he said, quietly, firmly, “for whatever of your faults, for whatever unintended pains you may bring this world, I will love you anyway.”
And I knew: this was true ascension. My queen. My light. My darkness. My future. The answer to every question. The ending to every sentence.
