Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles, #2)

by Ilona Andrews

“You are not meant to be at peace. We, the human beings, are meant to live life to its fullest. We are meant to experience it all—sadness, disappointment, rage, kindness, joy, love. We are meant to test ourselves. It is painful and frightening, but this is what it means to be alive. You are hiding from life here. This isn’t peace. This is a slow, deliberate suicide.”

We make our own choices in life. Our actions shape our lives, and we alone are responsible for them.”

“Trade is the oldest and most noble profession in the galaxy, and making deals is its currency. It is a rite as ancient as the cosmos and the very foundation of mathematics. Something is always equal to something else and an exchange can be made. You desire something and so you surrender something to obtain the desired result.

Life is trade; we trade our labor for its fruit, we trade hours of study for knowledge, we trade pleasure for pleasure or sometimes for wealth, security, or offspring.

Suffer none who would seek to stand on the ground you have chosen.

“And that’s precisely why I am coming. In matters of diplomacy and love, one must strive for spontaneity. Doing the unexpected often gets you what you want. It wouldn’t be typical for the Horde to resort to poison, so we must assume they will.”

“You know what they say about abominations,” Caldenia said. “We make the worst enemies.” “Was that a threat?”“ Dagorkun’s eyes narrowed. “A warning.” Caldenia folded her hands on her lap. “There is only one time to make threats: when you intend to negotiate. I do not.”

Breath caught in my chest. I realized with absolute clarity that one day I was going to die. One day I would no longer be here. All the things I wanted, all my thoughts, all my worries—all of it would be gone with me, lost forever. There were so many things I wanted to do. So much I still wanted to see. I had to hold on to it. I had to hold on to every short second of life. Every breath was a gift, gone forever to the cold stars the moment I exhaled.

Twenty-one centuries ago Lucius Cassius, censor and consul of Rome, had asked, “Cui bono?” To whose benefit? Every crime had come to pass because someone had something to gain by it, whether it was money, fame, or emotional satisfaction.

They fight because they cannot stop,” he said, his voice somehow reaching me despite the wails. “They have buried their friends and lovers in that ground. It is watered with their blood, and they have nothing to show for it. The idea that those they lost died for nothing is too painful and frightening to contemplate. It’s not a war of the living, Dina. It’s the War of the Dead. Trust me when I say this: the dead do not care.

“Those who remain have forgotten they are alive. They think they have more in common with their fallen than with their enemy. Nothing could be further from the truth. I know the difference between life and death. Two live beings from the opposite boundaries of the galaxy have infinitely more in common with each other than the living and the dead from the same family.”