More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Trust your wife to find our son. Trust your Sovereign to bring the armada. Trust in me enough to stay alive.” I trust my wife. I do not trust my Sovereign.
Well, here I am, you deviant bitch. Here I bloody am. The motherfucking consequence.
I once thought the greatest sin of war was violence. It isn’t. The greatest sin is it requires good men to become practical.
And, all at once, the mission that took a month to plan and half a year to prepare, one that was to be executed by men and women who’ve made a vocation of war, comes apart with no explanation except that the Reaper is sharing our planet, and that my family is a line of paranoid tyrants.
Where is the beauty I saw when Ragnar reached for Sefi’s hand instead of his blade as he died? Where has our humanity gone? Is this why Sevro left? He felt the creep of doom and sought to cling to light? I let fear drive my hope away. I let war become me, and my men followed.
“There will be no rescue. The sea will come in.” “Well, I haven’t had a bath in weeks.” “Why are you doing this?” I ask, searching the strong bones of his face. “They’re just baked peasants.” “Even peasants don’t float, sir.”
“You beautiful bastard. Rhonna found us. The Star paved our way. You beautiful genius. You sick, twisted god.”
It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience. —JULIUS CAESAR
Matter, how tiny my share Time, how brief my allotment Fate, how small my roll to play Self, all that can be mastered
But the judgment of a child is a horrible thing.
Only fascists should make cities. Demokrats never have a salient thesis.
“Life is meant to be felt. Else why live? Valleys make the mountains.”
look for Ozgard. I wonder if it was this destiny he saw in the bones of a fire, as he claims to have seen mine. I find him climbing a tree toward an owl’s nest. Fitting.
