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Dianda is several things. Cheerfully violent. The Duchess of Saltmist. A frequent ally of mine. And, oh right, a mermaid—specifically,
I want my child back. You stole yourself from me when you chose wrongly. The least you can do is return the daughter I lost before I had you.”
“If you wanted me to be human, why the hell did you save me when I got elf-shot?” “Because the roses begged,” she said. “It seemed a shame to disappoint them, when they asked so sweetly.”
“She’s no sister of yours,” she snapped. “Simon had no part in making you, and I claim no responsibility for the blood you bear. August is my heir, and I shall have no other.”
Everyone’s magic is different, but everyone’s magic takes something from their parents.
Blood and roses. I feel like I'm having important thoughts...
Everything about her, from skin to hair to long gossamer wings, radiated a bright shade of lilac.
Because what I always needed was to be shrunk, menaced, and then surrounded by hostile people who could fly.
Chin up, shoulders back, wings straight, like my mama always used to say. As long as you don’t fly into anything you shouldn’t, you’re probably doing all right.”
“Amandine’s line—your sister, your mother, yourself—is responsible for the loss of our King and Queens, and there are those who say that only Amandine’s line can set right what they made wrong.”
She hated what her mother’s actions and our father’s blood had lain upon her, hated the expectation that she would sacrifice herself for the sake of others.
“Next time let’s go someplace new, where you haven’t already pissed everybody off,” said Quentin. “I’ll take that under advisement,”
“Are you a common thief, then?” “I like to think of myself as a rare and exceptional thief, but sure,” I said.
Beep. “I hate you and I’m eating the last of your ice cream because you suck. Please call. Please, please call.”
“Right. Baseball bat. That’s the best way to solve that sort of problem. Hit it with a baseball bat.” “I’ll have you know I used to solve a lot of problems with a baseball bat. Just because I’m more refined now doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my roots.”
Her skin was smooth as water on a windless day, and her hair was a cascade of curls flowing down her back and over her shoulders, also like the water, but this time after it had been whipped into angry waves. Her eyes were black from side to side, bottomless, cold. Even her clothing had changed, becoming a form-hugging dark blue gown that shaded to white at the bottom, like waves breaking against the beach.
Arden herself wore a long gown of frost-blue velvet, simply cut enough to pass as casual attire for a queen. It called the dark red highlights out of her long black hair and drew attention to her mismatched eyes, one mercury silver, the other pyrite gold.
My roots are silicon and titanium and electricity; my sap is light racing through a thousand bright channels, reaching, reaching, reaching for a sun made of information and power.
She has been working her way through her wife’s wardrobe for the past three years, wearing each piece as many times as she can before it must be washed, before the last traces of my mother’s skin and scent are wiped away.
“I would burn the world to ashes for the sake of my mother,”
