Clockwork Boys (Clocktaur War, #1)

by T. Kingfisher

She tried hard to be nondescript; it was one of her great assets. Short, drab, brown hair, brown skin, eyes of no particular color set in a face of no particular beauty—these were tools as useful in their way as grappling hooks and forger’s pens.

Lord Caliban, the Dreaming God’s knight-champion, paladin and demonslayer, who had been taken by a demon himself and run mad, killing half the priestesses in his god’s temple in one single bloody morning.

Aren’t the dreaming gods knights the hot ones?

There were a great many things she had prepared to say—vague explanations, stripped of any facts that could be dangerous, mentions of the Dowager’s name, promises of amnesty in the unlikely event any of them survived. She considered them all and rejected them one by one. “Would you like to go on a suicide mission?” she asked instead.

Lol

He smiled. It was the first genuine smile she’d seen all day. “I would be honored,” he said.

I love this man already

Slate had made peace with her god several times over in the last few days, but she commended her soul to heaven again just in case.

“Anyway it’s a suicide mission. You—and I, and a…coupla other people…will be going somewhere, and doing…err…something. Which is probably impossible, and we’ll likely all die.”

Once papers were signed, people seemed to give up. It was a strange sort of magic.

the Dreaming God has certain requirements in his servants. We’re uncomplicated and look good in white. You know how it is.” He considered for a moment. “We’re not sworn to celibacy.” The sexual tension in the room kicked up several notches, rather abruptly. Caliban twitched.

Whoop

And here he was. And here the god was. And the hollow place in his soul did not fill up. The god was all around him and Caliban stood in the center of holiness and was not touched.

He turned back, hands on hips. Brenner and Slate stared down at him glumly. “When did you two learn to ride?” he asked. “Nineteen years ago.” “This morning.”

This sent me

“Bah. I’m nothing if not open-minded—particularly in this weather—but the knight won’t be, and the priest really isn’t my type.”

I’m am begging for a throuple.

They dealt with it in their own ways. Brenner griped. Caliban brooded. Learned Edmund prayed. Slate contemplated their approaching deaths with an increasingly unhealthy relief.

Lol

“Then I don’t blame you for trying to avoid it,” said Brenner, grinning, “but you’re not trying it on our Slate.”

Brenner stop being fucking dumb