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I searched the old woman’s face for signs of mockery. I couldn’t believe she’d go along with a plan I’d had all of ten seconds to devise.
“Because that’s what he does,” Brasti interrupted. “He asks himself what the dumbest possible thing to do would be in any given situation and then he does it.”
From above I imagined we must look like a troupe of dancers not yet sure when to begin the performance.
I was starting to like Sir Shuran. Then I reminded myself that he was a Knight and the problem went away.
“He’s a Saint,” Brasti said. “Just not the Saint of Humility.”
A Knight needs discipline above all things. But most of the time, following orders is easy for a Knight. We ask them to do things they expect. Things they even like to do.”
Tapestries hung from the wall showing scenes of various battles (one had to assume they didn’t bother with any in which Aramor wasn’t victorious).
“Yes, your Grace, I heard the words coming out of your mouth. I just don’t understand them.”
In addition to being the best swordsman in the world, Kest has an unnatural fascination with bureaucracy.
My verdict had exactly one virtue: no one liked it.
“Luck,” I said, trying out one word to see how close I was to being functional. I was pleased with the results—which showed how low my expectations were these days.
“All right, so you’ve killed all those people. They’re dead. What is it that keeps you going now?” “There are a few left I haven’t gotten around to. Yet.” She smiled and walked over and kissed me on the cheek. “See? Now that’s something I can get behind.”
That’s what’s wrong with this country, Falcio. People see no other choice than to take as much power as they can and use it for themselves.”
And she wouldn’t kill him with some poet’s thrust to the heart, either.
“This was never a land for heroes.
The man screamed and as he turned, his mouth was an enticingly wide opening, so I felt I had no choice but to thrust my other rapier into it.
“What?” he said. “We’ve never tried surrendering before. I just wanted to see what it was like.”
“She fights as if she wants to be killed,” I muttered. “Of course. She fights like you.”
“You’re a fool, Falcio val Mond. You know that?” “I do know that,” I said, “but why now in particular?
This is how the rich met their ends—neither bravely nor cowardly, but prettily.
Maybe this is a hopeless fight.” I looked at Kest and Brasti and, despite the flat looks on their faces, I smiled. “But hopeless fights just happen to be our specialty.”
“How do you manage with such worthless eyesight?” “By stabbing people who bring it up. Answer the question.”
“Is it possible that Kest knows her?” Brasti snorted. “A woman? How would that help his sword-fighting?”
“I always have a plan, Brasti. It’s just that sometimes it’s not a very good one.”
“You don’t have to get yourself killed to be like me, Valiana. In fact, I hardly ever get myself killed.”
Watch out for Dari, though. She’s amazing, but she’s also fucking insane.
“That was nicely done,” Kest said to Valiana. “Yeah,” Dari chimed in, “you make a convincingly arrogant bitch.”
“Dead people like me just fine, you know. They all say nice things about me.” “That’s because they think you’re one of them,” Kest said.
“Boring sounds better to me these days than it used to.
“What’s wrong with his face?” Dariana asked. “He’s smiling,” Brasti replied. “It’s a rare and altogether terrifying—” “Shut up, Brasti,” Kest said.
