The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos, #1)

by Samantha Shannon

She dared not speak, for to show she knew his language was to forge a link between them, and to betray herself. To betray the fact that just as she was now a witness to his crime, he was a witness to hers.

“Reading,” Ead said lightly. “A dangerous pastime.”

The dragons watched her. It was said they could see the deepest secrets of a soul, for human beings were made of water, and all water was theirs.

Art is not one great act of creation, but many small ones. When you read one of my poems, you fail to see the weeks of careful work it took me to build it—the thinking, the scratched-out words, the pages I burned in disgust. All you see, in the end, is what I want you to see. Such is politics.”

That is the problem with stories, child. The truth in them cannot be weighed.

The water in you is cold, her teacher had once told her. When you hold a weapon, you become a faceless ghost. You give nothing away.

“You have not seen death, my lord. You have only seen the mask we put on it.”

“In darkness, we are naked. Our truest selves. Night is when fear comes to us at its fullest, when we have no way to fight it,” Ead continued. “It will do everything it can to seep inside you. Sometimes it may succeed—but never think that you are the night.”

“Your fear is natural.” Ead held her gaze. “Let no one convince you otherwise.”

“Piety can turn the power-hungry into monsters,” Ead said. “They can twist any teaching to justify their actions.”