Paladin's Hope (The Saint of Steel, #3)

by T. Kingfisher

“A guard-gnole is family,” said Brindle proudly. Earstripe sagged and muttered something. Brindle asked a sharp question and his ears went back. Galen and Piper exchanged worried looks. Earstripe scuffed the ground with his foot. Brindle straightened. “A gnole is family,” he said, then leaned over and licked Earstripe between the eyes.

The thing that no one warned you about insanity was how incredibly tedious it was. You were always having to explain yourself and apologize, over and over, and you got so tired of being crazy.

“You pissed on a clocktaur?” “What can I say? War is hell.”

“Clever,” said Galen, because the alternative was to piss himself. “Very clever.”

Galen said nothing, more loudly.

You’d think you were contemplating a marriage proposal, not tossing each other off in the corner.

He is absolutely doing that deliberately. Also, take me now.

He finally managed a decent spark onto the tinder and breathed gently onto the flame. It flickered, nearly going out, and if he were a different sort of man, he’d think it was a metaphor but Piper was a lich-doctor so he took a deep breath and thought about a burn victim he’d seen on the slab.

“Lovely friezes around here,” said Stephen, to no one in particular. “Or are those bas reliefs?”