Paladin's Grace (The Saint of Steel, #1)

by T. Kingfisher

“All women are beautiful,” said Istvhan, dismissing this. “It is the job of their lovers to make them feel that way if they do not already.”

“Istvhan, you ever kill someone with an ice swan?” he whispered. “I clubbed someone unconscious with a frozen goose once. That’s similar?”

“Gentlemen,” said Beartongue, “I forbid you to smash the Archon’s decor and try to duel with it.” “Yes, your holiness.” “I’ll have you both excommunicated.” Stephen coughed. “Technically we’re not in your church, your holiness.” “Then I will have you confirmed so that I can excommunicate you even harder.”

He wished that he could break out his knitting, but for some reason, people didn’t take you seriously as a warrior when you were knitting. He’d never figured out why. Making socks required four or five double-ended bone needles, and while they weren’t very large, you could probably jam one into someone’s eye if you really wanted to. Not that he would. He’d have to pull the needle out of the sock to do it, and then he’d be left with the grimly fiddly work of rethreading the stitches. Also, washing blood out of wool was possible, but a pain.

tell you to go talk to a girl and you foil an assassination attempt. I’m a little frightened to think what might happen if I told you to go get laid.”

“Would the city survive, do you think?” “Gnnnrrrghhh.” “That’s ‘gnnnrrrghhh, Your Holiness,’ to you.” “Sorry.”

Rescue was bad. People who wanted you to be vulnerable and grateful tended to get very angry when you stopped being vulnerable and didn’t act grateful enough.

“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing what you were never allowed to know.”

If we limited loving to just the sane, undamaged people, the next generation would have about three people in it and presumably humanity would die out shortly afterward.”

Istvhan rose, shaking his head. “It’s no way to live,” he said. “And I love you, brother, and I want better for you than that.” He stood looking down at Stephen. “Go find someone else to shrive you, Stephen. I won’t grant you absolution for wanting more.”