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The last thing you will ever be in this world, girl, is someone’s hero.’
It’s truth to say in all save solitude – and in some sad cases, even then – you can always count on the company of fools.
At the heart of it, two kinds of people live in this world or any other: those who flee and those who fight.
‘Cock is just another word for “fool”. But you call someone a cunt, well …’ The girl smiled. ‘You’re implying a sense of malice there. An intent. Malevolent and self-aware. Don’t think I name Consul Scaeva a cunt to gift him insult. Cunts have brains, Don Tric. Cunts have teeth. Someone calls you a cunt, you take it as a compliment. As a sign that folk believe you’re not to be lightly fucked with.’ A shrug. ‘I think they call that irony.’
Iron or glass? they’d asked. Mia clenched her jaw. Shook her head. She was neither. She was steel.
‘The books we love, they love us back. And just as we mark our places in the pages, those pages leave their marks on us. I can see it in you, sure as I see it in me. You’re a daughter of words. A girl with a story to tell.’
The girl some called Pale Daughter. Or Kingmaker. Or Crow. The girl who was to murder as maestros are to music. Who did to happy ever afters what a sawblade does to skin.
