Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves, #1)

by Mary E. Pearson

make a wish for tomorrow, the next day, and the next. One will always come true.

“It’s awkward, isn’t it?” he said. “What’s that?” I replied, my voice far too breathy. “These moments when we’re not hating each other.”

His hand slid around my waist, drawing me closer, and my pulse raced in an uneven beat when his lips brushed my ear. “Be careful,” he whispered, “I just might cost you something too.”

Hear the language that isn’t spoken, Kazi, the breaths, the pauses, the fisted hands, the vacant stares, the twitches and tears, for everyone can hear spoken words, but only a few can hear the heart that beats behind them.

Make a wish, Kazi, one for tomorrow, for the next day, and the next. One will always come true. Because if I could believe in tomorrow or the next day, maybe that would give the magic time to come true. Or better, maybe by then I wouldn’t need the magic at all.

“The king can go yatter to his chickens as far I’m concerned,”

I am not a savage as Miandre thinks, but sometimes I’m forced to make savage choices. There is a difference.

“What’s the smile for?” I asked. “I like her better than I like you.” I couldn’t blame him. “Why’s that?” I asked. “She’s the one who snuck oranges into our sack. We didn’t even know they were there till we got home.” I had turned then and watched as Kazi helped a Vendan woman lift a tub of water. I thought back to the first time I had ever seen her. I paid for those oranges. You and your bunch of thugs were too drunk to see beyond your own inebriated noses. Maybe she did pay for them. Maybe she didn’t. She was right; I’d been too fuzzy-headed to be sure of what I saw. But I’d never stopped to wonder what happened to those oranges. Orange trees would grow well in the valley too.

We can become numb to things, so much so that we don’t even see them anymore.

Truth that came too late was as useful as a meal to a dead man.