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I seem to have taken up sleepwalking
excel at most things, he’d said. Why not unlikely escapes too?
“Agreed. A miracle should sound more dignified. Some chimes, perhaps, or a choir of heavenly voices.”
“A handsome monster husband who put a crown on her head? It’s a perfect fairy tale to sell to some starry-eyed girl. She can lock you in at night and kiss you sweetly in the morning, and Ravka will be secure.” “Why do you never kiss me sweetly in the morning, Zoya?” “I do nothing sweetly, Your Highness.”
Imagine yourself in a warm bath with a dish full of toffees. Maybe she’d just fill the bathtub with toffee and be really decadent about the endeavor. It could become quite the rage. Toffee baths and waffle scrubs.
A man without honor, said Matthias’ voice in her head. He should be ashamed. Nina snorted. If men were ashamed when they should be, they’d have no time for anything else.
“Drüsje,” Birgir hissed. Witch. “I don’t like that word,” Nina said, advancing. “Call me Grisha. Call me zowa. Call me death, if you like.”
Leoni was sunshine walking, Adrik was a doleful storm cloud too put-upon to actually rain.
But since Matthias had left her—been taken from her—Nina had lost the part of her that cared. What was the point of it all? You saved one life only to see another taken. The good perished. And the bad? Nina looked at the young Fjerdans in their uniforms, killers in the making. What right did they have to survive when her Matthias, her beautiful barbarian, was gone? Nina.
She wished she could clap her hands over her ears and tell him to leave her alone. But that was the last thing she wanted. Must you insist I stay human? she complained silently. I know how strong you are, Nina. My death will not be the thing that defeats you.
“Come on,” said Adrik. “If we leave Leoni to her own devices, she may invite them to a slumber party.”
“Never had a gift for pining,” Nikolai said. “Though I do like to show off my profile by staring mournfully out of windows.”
What is a mortal king to a queen who can summon storms?
“Steel is earned, Your Highness. So are stories.”
Fear is a phoenix.
You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.
Progress is a river. It cannot be called back once it leaps its banks.”
“Just admit that you need to be loved as much as they need to love you.” “Luckily, I’m very lovable.” “Less so by the moment. You don’t look remotely fatigued. It’s not normal.”
“I think fatigue suits you, Zoya. The pallor. The shadows beneath your eyes. You look like a heroine in a novel.” “I look like a woman about to step on your foot.” “Now, now. You’re managing remarkably well. And the smiling hasn’t killed you yet.” “Yet.”
Desperation makes people do ugly things, and it is always the girls who suffer first.”
We hope or we falter.”
“That squash is as wide as I am tall,” Nikolai said beneath his breath as he smiled and waved. “And twice as handsome.” “Half as handsome,” he protested. “Ah,” said Zoya, “but the squash doesn’t talk.”
She was tired of these miracles, tired of the dread riding with her daily, and utterly sick of stories that ended in suffering for those who dared to be brave or strange or strong.
The monster is me and I am the monster.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s me,” he repeated, and when he heard the words emerge from his lips, human and whole, he wanted to weep with gratitude. He’d never tasted anything so sweet as language returning to his tongue.
“I know, Yuri,” he said as steadily as he could manage. “Quite a party trick. Are you going to faint?” “No. Possibly. I don’t know.” “You’ll be all right. We all will.” The words were so patently untrue that Nikolai had to struggle not to laugh.
His mind felt like enemy territory.
“The trick of acting is to believe the lie yourself, at least a little. Acting begins in the body. If you want to convince anyone of anything, you start with the way the body moves. It tells a thousand stories before you ever open your mouth.”
It was one thing to see the truth of someone. It was another to speak it back to them.
“Weak kings,” mused Nikolai. “Almost as vexing as weak tea.”
“Great men are often the victims of the lies told by their enemies. What Saint has walked among us who did not face hardships in this life? We have been taught to fear darkness—” “A lesson you failed to learn.” “But we are all alike in the dark,” said the pilgrim. “Rich man, poor man.” “A rich man can afford to keep the lights on,”
“I don’t like it when you look at me that way. As if you’ve stopped believing.”
Don’t look back. Don’t look back at me.
“It’s not a miracle,” said Nikolai, reaching for his revolvers. “It’s a trap.”
“Zoya, say something spiteful.” “Why?” she asked faintly. “Because I’m fairly certain I’m hallucinating, and in my dreams you’re much nicer.” “You’re an idiot, Nikolai.” “Not your best work.” “I’m sorry I can’t deliver better wordplay right now. I seem to be paralyzed with fear.”
“Do something!” said Zoya. “Like what?” “You have guns!” “I’m not going to shoot at bees.” “Then shoot at that thing.”
“I think it’s fair to say we’re outgunned,” said Nikolai. “Lay down your arms,” the grotesque said in a chorus of voices from a hundred mouths. “In a moment,” replied Nikolai. “I’m finding them very reassuring right now. Yuri, get off of your damned knees and at least try to look like you can fight.” “You don’t understand,” said Yuri, his eyes full of tears. “That is entirely correct.”
“Is this the part where we die well?” The dragon was wheeling overhead. If these creatures wanted Nikolai dead, they’d chosen an elaborate means of making it happen, so something else had to be in play—hopefully something that would allow him to negotiate for Zoya’s and Yuri’s safety. “No, this is the part where the king of Ravka surrenders himself, and the love we never had lives on in ballads and song.” “Nikolai,” snapped Zoya, “don’t you dare.” “Give me another option, Nazyalensky. One of us needs to survive this.”
“Sometimes the stories are rough on the details,” said Juris with a gleaming smile. “Come, boy king. It’s time we talked.”
“Sometimes a dragon is just a dragon, Zoya Nazyalensky, and I can assure you no metaphor has ever murdered so many.”
“Like calls to like,”
The storm is in your bones.
“I like to bet on myself whenever I can. But usually with other people’s money.”
“We are all connected, King Nikolai. The Grisha, the Fold, the power inside you. The Fold is a wound that may never heal. But perhaps it was not meant to. Remember that when you face your trial.”
“We’re trained to understand the ordinary, to fear difference, even if that difference is divine.”
His world had slid into the strange, and he could adapt or go mad.
She liked to burn her past like the fuse on a stick of dynamite.
if we were guards, we could spend the day doing something more exciting.” “We could go riding.” “Eat with our fingers.” Ehri lowered her chin and whispered, “Belch.” “With fervor.” “We could—oh dear,” said Ehri. “I think we have company.” And sure enough down both garden paths he saw the hopefuls and their chaperones approaching like a flock of beautifully dressed birds of prey. “Someone must have reported we were in private conversation.” “Perhaps they’ll all throw themselves into the pond to get your attention,” whispered Ehri, and Isaak had to resist the urge to laugh again. “What amuses
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“Most of us can hide our greatest hurts and longings. It’s how we survive each day. We pretend the pain isn’t there, that we are made of scars instead of wounds. The hive does not grant me the luxury of that lie. I cannot go on this way. None of us can.”
