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“You have done an unwise thing, Martise of Asher,” he said softly. “You’ve caught my interest.”
“I understand you’ve been helping Gurn. A comfort to know that while you can’t work a simple spell, you can at least milk a goat.” Her hands twitched before relaxing at her sides. He was curious to see if she’d conquer that urge to slam her fist into his jaw. It seemed so as she laced her fingers together until her knuckles turned white. “Yes, Master. I’ve worked among livestock all my life, including cows, pigs, goats…and asses.”
Nice one lol
“How is it that a woman, blessed with a voice that could make a man come, sings badly enough to frighten the dead?”
“That was Martise you heard. She was…singing.” A protracted silence followed and then, “Trust me, I’m not jesting. You can unload your bow.” His next indignant response made her smile. “No, I wasn’t beating her! She’s the one tormenting me with that hideous wailing!”
“For someone so small, you’ve a grip surpassing Gurn’s. You’re crushing my ribs.” He shrugged against her hold. She let him go, almost falling off Gnat a second time. Silhara’s low growl of frustration echoed in the bailey. “Hang on to me. Just not like a strangler serpent.”
“Something comes,” she whispered. His nostrils flared, sensual mouth flattening back against his bared teeth. “We’re being hunted.” He hefted the crossbow, grabbed her wrist and raced for the door.
I got chills!
“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” “Because Gurn has had his bollocks knocked around for hours now and needs to piss.” Silhara vaulted onto the vacated seat.
I love how blunt and sharp his humour is 😂
“Such words only hurt when the person saying them means something to you.”
He cupped the apple in his hand. Paring it into slices, he placed it on the table. He cleaned the knife on his trousers, turned and, quick as a striking serpent, buried the lethal tip in the back of her ex-lover’s hand where it rested on the table. Balian's shocked bellow of pain ripped through the common area, halting all conversation. He bolted to his feet and bellowed again as the movement pulled on his arm. He stared at his bloodied hand and then at Silhara, wild-eyed. “Bursin’s bollocks! You stupid bastard!” Silhara rose as well, grasped Balian’s wrist and yanked the knife out with
...more
“One move and I’ll slit your throat. Die handsome or live honest. What will it be?” As one the crowd hissed and groaned when Silhara slowly carved a half-moon design in Balian’s right cheek. The man, beaten, humiliated and scarred, fainted. When he was done, the Master of Crows stood and tossed Balian’s knife so that it stuck in the ground near his head. No mercy softened his voice. No remorse colored his tone. “Don’t fret, boy,” he said. “No one will notice it if you fuck in the dark.”
The ultimate "insult her and you die" scene omg this scene was incredie!!
The door opened. Gurn, wide-eyed, naked and holding a cudgel in one hand, greeted them. Silhara smirked. “Well, aren’t you a sight? And here I thought it was me and my reputation that chased visitors away from Neith.”
Gurn is literally Hodor from Game of Thrones!!
“Open for me, Martise.” His tongue swept his lower lip in a lascivious motion. “I crave the taste of you.”
Dayuuuuuuuum
“What will protect me from you?” He pulled her hard against him and nipped her shoulder. "
"nothing" I dunno why it clipped the end of the quote 🤣
The one night they spent on the open plain, he held watch while she slept. She’d awakened to find him running his thumb and finger over her braid as if it were a strand of prayer beads.
He leaned his forehead into her belly. “Say my name.” Martise swallowed down the knot lodged in her throat. Something was horribly wrong. The volatile sorcerer who captured a storm, ridiculed a god and spat in Conclave’s collective face, sat before her, a weary pilgrim seeking succor in her embrace. “Silhara.”
“I have to go downstairs and help Gurn. He burned his hand on a hot pot yesterday and will be clumsy for a few days with his bandages. Do you need anything from me?” She was reluctant to leave him. The folds of her leine muffled his chuckle. “Can you give me salvation?” The strange question sent another bolt of dread through her. “No.” “Then tea will do.”
“I am pathetic,” he muttered. “I condemn myself and risk a world for a woman.”
I'd say that makes you pretty epic.
“I wish you loved me,” she said in a small voice. “Maybe then I could make you halt this madness.” Her statement almost brought him to his knees. It was because he loved her that he followed this path, but telling her so would only make her protest harder or worse, do something foolish that might compromise them both. He closed his eyes for a moment and told his greatest lie. “I don’t love you. You are an admirable woman, more so than any other person I’ve known save Gurn. But that has little bearing here.”
NO MY HEART *sobs in a corner*
“Please, I beg you, do not sacrifice yourself.” She kissed his unyielding mouth, and her voice shook. “I’d rather have the god in the world than you gone from it.” “Sweet woman, I’m dead already.” Silhara lifted her off her feet, enfolding her in an embrace that threatened to break her ribs. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth—heedless of her tears that made his lips glisten.
“I will beg you on my knees. Don’t do this.” He peeled her fingers off the robe and brushed his lips across hers. A kiss of farewell. “Your master awaits you in the courtyard. I won’t see you off.” He turned away and strode to her door, pausing when she held out a supplicating hand and called his name. “Silhara…” His broad shoulders remained stiff, and he kept his back to her. “Fortune favor you, apprentice.” The door closed with a final click.
His grove, proof of his triumph over a lifetime of obstacles and recipient of his greatest care, burst into an inferno of charring trees and screaming birds. Behind the protective door, Silhara’s broken soul wailed in anguish.
He loved her to the point of madness, to obsession and even sacrifice.
“And will you love me for a day? A year? A lifetime?” She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it in that beautiful, shattered voice. “Beyond that,” he whispered, eyes shining with the tempest of emotion he’d held in check until now. “Beyond the reign of false gods and meddlesome priests. Beyond al Zafira when her bright stars fade.”
