Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark, #1)

by Veronica Roth

She was not a rusty nail, as she had once told him, or a hot poker, or a blade in Ryzek’s hand. She was a hushflower, all power and possibility. Capable of doing good and harm in equal measure.

“It’s worth everything to me, what you did,” he said, still in Thuvhesit. “It changes everything.”

“I like how you sound in your own language,” she said softly. “Can I kiss you?” he said. “Or will it hurt?” Her eyes went wide. Then she said breathlessly, “And if it hurts?” And smiled a little. “Life is full of hurt anyway.”

“Besides, whether you trust me or not makes no difference to me,” I said, at last. “I am going to rip my brother to pieces either way.”

That was the problem with being so convinced of your own awfulness—you thought other people were lying when they didn’t agree with you.

“I have heard that you have a talent for death,”

“I suppose I do,” she said. “But I don’t have a passion for it.”