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“I See blood, and gold,” she said, her voice gone all hollow. “I Hear a mournful howl. Fire and Death are on your trail, girl, and behind them the Eightfold Bitch makes her way to your door. One of Her Blades has noticed you. But will it find your hand, or your heart? Unclear, uncertain....”
Ultimately, I think, the kind of power a mage dealt with on a daily basis pushed him, eventually, beyond mundane considerations such as right and wrong. He tended to think more along the lines of 'possible' and 'impossible', and the 'impossible' list was a lot shorter for a mage than it was for you or me.
And I realized there was a hole in my life, a place where a family was supposed to fit. Like a missing tooth. Or a severed limb.
“I swore I’d kill the bastard myself. If you go and do it, then what’s my word worth?”
You can’t just go walking around with a severed head in Lucernis. But you can, I discovered, walk around with a lumpy head-shaped item, wrapped in linen and dripping blood. I think it’s just that nobody really wants to know you’re walking around with a severed head, and are appreciative of the courtesy of leaving room for doubt.
“That sounds suspiciously like a plan.” “No, it sounds like a steaming hot mess. We’ll see if it improves.”
But the truth is the truth, and facts are facts.
“True wisdom lies not in knowing the correct answer, but in knowing the correct question.”
It’s become fairly plain that you, Amra Thetys, given the choice between fighting and capitulating, will pick a fight every damned time.”
But then I generally assume the worst of people unless given a reason not to.
Fate is a slaver, bloodwitch, and I refuse its chains.” As I walked out her door, she spoke in a quiet voice. “That is why fate has singled you out, Amra Thetys.”
