“Did you really ride down a Privileged at the Battle of Landfall?” Olem asked. “Put my lance through his eye,” Styke said, prodding a finger at his own face. “Nothing better than watching a Privileged die. They always have the stupidest looks on their faces, like how dare I murder him before he could murder me.” Olem slapped his knee, guffawing, rocking back in his chair, and took one of his pre-rolled cigarettes from his pocket, offering it to Styke. So much for levelheaded advice. “You know they’ve written books about you?” Olem asked. Styke snorted. “Probably a bunch of bullshit.” “We’re
...more
