Storm of Locusts (The Sixth World, #2)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

know the rest of the sword is four feet long, its blade forged from the raw lightning that the sun gifted to his son as a weapon. His son who was once my mentor, once the only man I ever thought I’d love. But I tricked that man, trapped him and imprisoned him in the earth. I know I didn’t have a choice, that it was either him or me. And as much as I loved him, I loved myself just a little bit more.

Chaos trails him like death trails you.

I sigh, conflicted. “I’m trying not to kill people,” I explain. “It’s a new thing I’m trying. I mean, I know I said all that stuff before . . .”

Don't Know why this cracks me up.

“He doesn’t like rapists. That seems like an excellent quality to me.”

“In Diné!” he says. “Sword don’t speak English.”

“One need not dismember a woman to break her into pieces.

“Magic, medicine, science, and a little luck. If I had duct tape, I’d throw that in too.”