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

by Samantha Shannon

“Reading,” Ead said lightly. “A dangerous pastime.” Truyde looked up at her, sharp-eyed. “You mock me.” “By no means. There is great power in stories.” “All stories grow from a seed of truth,” Truyde said. “They are knowledge after figuration.”

“you are raised to the noble ranks of the High Sea Guard, and must swear to practice the way of the dragon until you draw your final breath.”

“Damn your warnings,” Sabran hit back. “I do not fear you, lizard. Your threats have as much weight as smoke.”

“Our thanks to you, Mistress Melaugo. Your kindness will not be forgotten.” “Please forget it. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

“Do you not crave vengeance?” “I prefer the taste of mercy. It lets me sleep at night.”

Do you not see that this is a divine mission?” “No, I do not, you witless cabbage.”

“I hate that the symbol of his virtue is a book, you know. Books are too good for him.”

“My belly waits for no man.”

“but when the heart grows too full, it overflows. And mine, inevitably, overflows on to a page.”

“I do not think of you often enough to have formed any opinion of you, Your Grace.”

“I do not sleep because I am not only afraid of the monsters at my door, but also of the monsters my own mind can conjure. The ones that live within.”

“Yes, Radiance. I believe I am sufficiently plague-ridden.”

It was customary for the vows to be taken at midnight, during the new moon, for it was in the darkest hours that companionship was needed most.

She should have done more to hammer the danger into that copper saucepan of a head.

Dragon and rider had to share one heart.

“Perhaps dukes are naïve to such things, but there are arrogant fools the world over.”

My evening star. If the sun burned out tomorrow, your flame would light the world.

“A sister who sees beyond her own nose. Rare as silver honey, I should say,”

“Fair roses have grown from twisted seeds.”

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

“And the enemy of the enemy is a potential friend,”

“You see, my lord,” Harlowe murmured. The light feathered in his eyes. “You can find beauty anywhere.”

She had already lost her honor, her name, and her dragon. There was nothing left to lose.

“How many times have we damned each other now?” “Not nearly enough.”

“Sometimes a great melancholy comes upon her,” Loth continued, “and she takes to her bed for days. She calls them her shadow hours.

All he had possessed was a sharp tongue and the shirt on his back.

It was the stuff of legend, a tale destined to be enshrined in song—and Niclays had slept through the whole damned thing. The thought made a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Jannart would have laughed his guts out.

“I will teach my heart to beat again.”

“You do say the strangest things, sister.” “The wisest are seldom appreciated in their time.”

“I would live alone for fifty years to have one day with you.”