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The trees were full of crows and the woods were full of madmen.
Her fingers bled where the wire ends cut her.
Assuming he even existed in the first place. And if he did, what kind of life do you lead where you find yourself building a harp out of corpses?
It was a cruel spirit that would punish starving people for what they had been forced to eat, but the spirits had never pretended to be kind.
Some of those people are men. Some of those men are princes. Yes, I know. It is a different kind of anger. Something darker and more deliberate.
Three tasks, and then the dust-wife would give her the tools to kill a prince.
She had two sisters, and she was the youngest. She loved her oldest sister, Damia, very much.
Damia’s first son would sit someday upon the Northern throne, and her second (if she had one) would rule the harbor city.
It struck Marra, watching, as an extravagance of grief. Someone wanted the world to know how sad he could afford to be.
Magic, maybe. Magic or worse. That a land like this existed at all. That the gods had destroyed it.
She had not realized that a nun had more power than a princess, that she could close a door.
