Tyrant's Throne (Greatcoats, #4)

by Sebastien de Castell

We watched them come, these men and women for whom war was religion and mercy a concept so foreign that Gwyn said the closest word to it in their language actually meant “to forget.”

Finally Kest said, “It is a cold logic that’s guiding you, Falcio.” “Look around,” I said, turning to set down the path from the hill to where Chalmers would ride to her death. “It’s a cold fucking country.”

“Find two friends,” I told her. “Make sure they’re belligerent and annoying and that they get you into trouble at every turn.” “And get you out of it,” Kest said. “That, too. Most of all, though, pick two people for whom you’d gladly die.”