Grey Sister (Book of the Ancestor, #2)

by Mark Lawrence

When a child is given to the Noi-Guin it is sacrificed to the dark. Some few may survive the training but the adult who then descends the fortress walls on a moonless stretch of night a decade and more later will be a different person.

The holy disdain anger, for what faith is not, at its core, about acceptance of things you cannot change?

To Sister Cage though, fury was a weapon. She opened herself to the anger she had held at bay. Her friend lay dying. Her friend. There is a purity in rage. It will burn out sorrow. For a time. It will burn out fear. Even cruelty and hatred will seek shelter, rage wants none of them, only to destroy. Rage is the gift our nature gives to us, shaped by untold years. Why discard it?

THERE ARE MANY poisons that will induce madness but none perhaps quite so effective as love.

“Fuck Wheel, and fuck the Ancestor.” Apple set one hand to Kettle’s chest, kneeling above her, ready to push. She took the hilt of the knife in her other hand. “You’re mine and I won’t lose you.” She bent her head and tears fell. “Let me do it.” Her mouth twitched and the words came out broken. “Please.” “Poisoner.” Kettle found the strength to raise a hand, running white fingers into the flame of Apple’s hair. She held her a moment. “Poison me.”

Nona hesitated then spoke. “Is this because I saved your life when Raymel . . .” Zole swallowed. “My life was only in danger because of your actions.” “What? I saved—” “If you had killed Raymel Tacsis at your first attempt I would not have been lying poisoned in a cave. You should have cut his head off.”

“Did you . . . come back for me?” she muttered as Nona came close. “I tripped over you.”

“I’m sure they . . .” Giljohn rolled over, trying to free his hands. “I’m in my own damn cage?”

Three knocks at the door. Sharp, precise. “Come.” Glass knew a moment of fear. She had seen the horrors of the Inquisition up close. Nothing is as cruel as a righteous man.