The Strength of the Few (Hierarchy, #2)

by James Islington

“None slower than the impatient, you know.” “What?” “Sorry.” She gave a deprecating half laugh at herself. “Just something my tutor used to say. Usually after my father passed through for his weekly critique. He used to tell me that I was so worried about being good enough, it was distracting me. That I was so focused on where I needed to be, I couldn’t see the space in between. ‘Improvement is not a destination,’ and all that.”

lours

Well this is a rare encounter; never heard this word before.

But you all keep saying I need protection, so…” “This was not what we meant,” rumbles Eidhin. “Plenty of other families keep dogs for security.” “Dogs he will eat,” observes Eidhin. “Families he will eat,” adds Aequa.

“That, I promise you, is true.” Eidhin stirs. Massages his shoulder, which took a hit from a Sextus earlier. “No. The measure of a man is not whether he does the wrong thing. It is whether he accepts that he has.

I hesitate, then close my eyes. Sway from exhaustion, from the throb of my legs and the abrading pain of their braces. Kadmos’s tea has almost worn off. The strength of the few is all that matters. My father once told me that men become their choices, not their intentions. I wonder what he would say to me now.