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It made her jealous in a way she recognized as childish: the dumb longing of a noncitizen to be acknowledged as a citizen.
The jaws of the Empire opening up again, akimbo, bloody-toothed—the endless self-justifying desire that was Teixcalaan, and Teixcalaanli ways of thinking of the universe. The Empire, the world. One and the same. And if they were not yet so: make them so, for this is the right and correct will of the stars.
oh, there’s got to be a crime for stealing from the dead. Is there a crime for that, Reed?” “Plagiarism,” said Three Seagrass, “but it’d be a stretch in the courts.” “It’s not funny.”
a huge edifice crowned with a dome that ate half the sky, surrounded by thorn-spiked towers: a thistle of a building, concrete and glass.
fury. (She was getting used to the combination: that doubling, the strangeness of being grateful for something she should never have had to experience in the first place.
“I am terrified of you, Your Excellency,” she said, using the word for “terror” which, in poetry, could also mean “awed.” The sort of adjective that was applied to atrocities or divine miracles. Or emperors, which Mahit assumed were in many ways both at once. “The perils,” said Nineteen Adze ruefully, “of getting to know someone.”
“Three Seagrass, are you all right?” “Oh, fuck,” Three Seagrass said, “no, I’m not, but I was so hoping you wouldn’t notice?”
