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“Better men and women than me died for nothing,” he said. “It’s only fair I do the same.”
I would dance naked through the streets of Iona or marry a mortal woman if it meant she would help me.
Dom wanted to believe in ghosts.
The old man lived perched on the cliff edge of death, and had done so for a decade. Erida didn’t bother to fear for his health anymore.
She felt the wind on her teeth before she realized she was smiling. Despite her fears and the sword hanging over them, her body went loose. This is what freedom feels like.
Why did I spoil myself I hate myself so much
“And yes, I have a trick. He is quite large and quite annoying,” she added, looking pointedly at Dom.
I’d just as soon marry a corpse. It would smell better.
“What’s it matter to you, lady knight?” Rye spat, trying to insult her with a compliment.
Dom the walking storm cloud,
Desperate enough to agree with Sorasa.
“She’s seen our faces and she won’t stop rhyming. We need to kill her.”
The words had hit a nerve in her like nothing else, not even Dom.
The image wouldn’t hold. It was wrong somehow, and she knew why. It didn’t matter that she had seen his twin. She would never see Cortael himself. Whatever remained was ash and bone. He was lost to her, without hope of return. A man she didn’t want, who hadn’t wanted her. And still it cut her to pieces.
She listened for his telltale snarl or hiss of frustration. Somehow, he rewarded her with both.
Andry, afraid of the city ahead. Corayne, afraid of the sword on her back. Dom, afraid of nearly everything.
The Elder had probably not been ordered to bed for centuries, if it had even happened at all.
“We need you healthy, Dom.” “I—oh, very well,” he blustered, storming away from the campfire.
It would not stop the immortal from hearing their conversation. Sorasa only wished he could hear all the times she cursed him in her head.
“There are too many curse words, in too many languages, for me to choose only one,”
Brilliant, brave Corayne.
He doesn’t belong here with us, as much as he tries to. The end of the world is no place for Andry Trelland. He doesn’t deserve it.
“If it keeps you alive, yes.”
“Any suggestions?” The old woman grinned toothily and tied herself in next to Corayne, looping rope over her wrists. “Survive,” Dom answered, grave. The assassin’s eyes rolled. “I don’t know which one of you is more useless.”
“The witch has a way of being useless precisely when we need her most.”
“Try not to bite, Elder.” “Why would I?” he snarled back. “Your blood is probably poison.”
Andry. The noble squire who betrayed his country, his duty, all he ever worked for. Who left his mother to save the realm, and broke his own heart to do it.
Her blood joined the rest, a glittering crimson, carrying with it the hope of the realm. The hope of her father. The hope of herself.
