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How interesting that a man didn’t always admire his own traits in another.
“You have done an unwise thing, Martise of Asher,” he said softly. “You’ve caught my interest.”
“How is it that a woman, blessed with a voice that could make a man come, sings badly enough to frighten the dead?”
“Such words only hurt when the person saying them means something to you.”
“Don’t fret, boy,” he said. “No one will notice it if you fuck in the dark.”
“I’ve a mind to see all of you, Martise, and not much patience to wait. How badly do you want to save this garb?”
“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.”
He loved her to the point of madness, to obsession and even sacrifice.
