Sins of Empire (Gods of Blood and Powder, #1)

by Brian McClellan

“I intend to do very little sleeping.” Olem leaned toward her, wiggling his eyebrows. “I don’t intend on sleeping, either.” Vlora rolled her eyes. “Because of my Knack,” Olem explained in mock earnestness. “I don’t need sleep.” “I know!” Vlora took the cigarette from him and took a drag before handing it back. She held the smoke in for a moment, then slowly exhaled it through her nostrils. “And you know exactly what I meant.”

Celine perked up, shaking herself awake. “No. Dad never told me stories. Taught me how to pick a lock and slip a pocketbook, but never any stories. Said stories were for babies and silly fools.” “Your dad was a prick,” Styke said. “I loved my dad.” Celine sniffed. “And he loved me.”

Fifteen people were fourteen too many to keep a secret,

What had Tamas always said? The minutiae of the common man is the grease that slicks the gears of civilization.

Styke took a deep breath, taking in the smoke of the cook fires, the smell of the horses, the sickly sweet scent of manure heaps, and the sour stench of unwashed soldiers at camp. His lungs yearned for all of it and more—for the corpses on the field and the fresh scent of crushed grass and powder smoke after a skirmish.

“This isn’t about revenge,” Styke said. “This is because you’re an asshole.”