Nettle & Bone

by T. Kingfisher

few humans were truly worth the love of a living dog. Some gifts you could never deserve.

had never been patient with her own weakness.

It was a job for heroes, perhaps, and Marra did not know how to be a hero.

the history of the world was written in women’s wombs and women’s blood

Rage shivered through her, a rage that seemed like it could topple the halls of heaven, then vanished under the knowledge of her own helplessness. Rage was only useful if you were allowed to do anything with it.

It was hard to be frightened of the unknown when the unknown kept chickens.

I am doing a heroic task and heroic tasks are not done by half measures.

she cried a little more, and then she bent her head over the fabric and set to work.

“God’s balls,” said the dust-wife a week later,

She added the goblin market to things that she had to worry about, and felt anxiety gnawing inside her rib cage. In the end, it was frightening but not difficult.

“If I’m in a fairy tale, I might actually have a chance.”

I do not fear retribution; I fear what sort of person I would become by doing it.”

Lady of Grackles, please, no. Let me stay insignificant. Let me be a weaver and a midwife, not a princess.

managing to indicate a profound sense of loss at his inability to eat the pickle in question.

maybe the weakness of being good was that evil didn’t occur to you.

She wondered if all the old stories of heroes slaying monsters and maidens locked in towers had involved long, tedious stretches of trying to find the monsters or build the towers in the first place. Probably. No, almost certainly. Who wants to hear the dull practical bits? Me. I do. It would make me feel less like I am failing.

Nothing is fair, except that we try to make it so. That’s the point of humans, maybe, to fix things the gods haven’t managed.

You look as if you’re afraid the universe is ashamed of you.”

If you had not led me out, I would still be hiding in a corner there, hoping that everything would go away.” Marra blinked up at the darkness. “I didn’t lead you out. We went together. I leaned on you for half of it.” He chuckled softly. “That’s not how I remember it. I remember you holding my arm. You were very calm and very brave,

It was easier to talk in the dark, somehow.

“I have been resigned to dying for a long time.” “Fenris . . .” “No, no, don’t sound stricken. What else am I good for now? You gave me something useful to do with my death.

“You can’t force someone to do what you think is best for them.”

“You two will be better off making your own way. By which I mean that all this poorly suppressed longing is giving me hives.”

“You are an absolute grump and so is your chicken.”