Harrow the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #2)

by Tamsyn Muir

Hell spat you back out. Fair enough.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus had always so badly wanted to live. She had cost too much to die.

“Look, all I shall say is that for a House that trades solely in bone, you own some enormous needles.

You didn’t have your original thumb and I’d touched your intestines, which is usually what, fourth date, but you were fine.

“I certainly hope you’re a fighter,” said Nonius, and raised his dagger-hand. “God knows you’re not a debater.”