Strength (Curse of the Gods, #4)

by Jane Washington

was sitting at the head of Cyrus’s dining table, clutching the knife and fork in front of me and leaning over my empty plate. It was the same way I had greeted the past seven sun-cycles. I called it my power stance: back straight, head up, cutlery ready.

there was a lot of bravery to be found in stupidity.

I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I was somehow sure of it. My intuition is never wrong. “Your intuition is wrong all the time,” Siret muttered, suddenly behind me.

I realised I had kicked a rock. With my own foot. As in, I had managed to do something slightly athletic without tripping and falling on my face. Kicking rocks was a very dangerous athletic activity, since it was so easy to misread the position of the rock and allow it to roll beneath your shoe instead of launching from the toe of your shoe—therefore throwing off your momentum and sending you falling backwards. That had been my previous experience with all rock-kicking attempts.

“I think black was a great choice for him,” I said, my chest heaving in and out as the reality of what had just happened hit me. “I mean, pink sparkles would have clashed horribly with his SWIRLING PITS OF DARKNESS EYES.”

“You’re missing the point, though, Will. You learn about the past to change the future. Nothing stays the same, ever, but the past often repeats itself. History can teach us a lot. Important things.”

“Does she really need fixing?” he asked. “Can’t she be perfect in her incompleteness?”