Windwitch (The Witchlands, #2)

by Susan Dennard

“Everyone lies,” she finally said. “I don’t.” He popped the cork from the healer salve, and with a clean linen, he scooped some out. The instant it touched her wrists, the pain receded. Cold fizzed in. “Of course you lie,” she argued, eyes closing to savor the cool relief. “I told you, Hell-Bard. Everyone lies. It’s in the way we banter with our friends. It’s in the mundane greetings we give passersby. It’s in the most meaningless things we do every single moment of every single day. Hundreds upon thousands of tiny, inconsequential lies.” Caden’s careful application paused. “And do you sense them all?” She nodded, eyelids lifting just enough for her to meet his unflappable gaze. “It’s like living beside the ocean. The waves eventually fade into nothing because you’re so used to it. You stop hearing each crash, each swell … Until, one day, when a storm comes along. The big lies—I feel those. But the little ones? They ride away on the tide.” He offered no reaction, his face utterly still as if he was thinking through each sentence. Each word. Each pause.

Safi dealing with that is… hard. Imagine not able to stop those feelings from suffocating you, that you feel it from everybody, all day long.