The Rise of Magicks (Chronicles of The One, #3)

by Nora Roberts

He glanced at the pile of books—most loaned to him by Mallick. Study, the man said, constantly. Read and learn, look and see, train and do. His own personal Yoda.

Just do the next thing, she told herself. Do the next thing, and when that was done, do the next.

I get, on some level, why you talked to your mom about it and not me, but you didn’t, so it smacks me in the face, and I’ve got about thirty seconds to adjust before I grill Duncan.” “You . . . you grilled Duncan?” “It’s my fucking job, Fallon. My goddamn job.” “Yes.” Touched, amused, a little horrified, she got an apple out of the bin, carefully cut it in half for Laoch and Grace. “It is. How’d he do?” “He did all right,” Simon replied. “He’s not an asshole.” “Good to know.”

“Even in triumph, sorrow that deep cuts to the heart.

If I wasn’t meant to feel rage, grief, fury, I shouldn’t have been given a will, a heart, a mind.

There could be peace after war, she thought. There could be normality after nightmares. And, she knew, there could be solace after the grieving. Renewal after doubt. Hope after despair.

The treasures, the dreams, the dangers, the glorious diversity of the world and those who live in it. She’s a generous mother who offers all we need, and she’s a child who needs our tending and care.”