A Strange and Stubborn Endurance (The Tithenai Chronicles #1)

by Foz Meadows

Growing up, I didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for female warriors. I didn’t think less of women, exactly; I just assumed they were capable of less, or less capable at certain things, though I suppose that’s much the same thing when you get right down to it. Until one day, I watched a fishmonger’s wife first lay out four grown men in a bar-brawl, then quick-talk them into paying her damages, and—well. It was hard to maintain my old views after that, not least because it made me wonder why it took excelling at something masculine for me to be impressed by female competence. If women were meant to be valued for their feminine skills, then why were the skills themselves devalued?

“In my experience, cynics believe in the gods; just not in their kindness.”

As Velasin swallowed and licked his lips, Cae wondered which particular god or saint he’d so displeased, to be subjected to this level of torment first thing in the morning. He was already doing his level best to accept his cohabitation with a beautiful man he was on no account to flirt with, let alone touch; he didn’t need such a vivid reminder of all the reasons why he might want to.

my gods i just love a cozy himbo/soldier fantasy of manners

Cae fell abruptly silent, smiling stupidly at Velasin, who was smiling at him. No, not just smiling—grinning, the bright expression transforming his features from beautiful to extraordinary. The breath caught in Cae’s chest, though he somehow retained the power of speech. “We are rather hopeless at all this, aren’t we?” “Just a bit,” said Velasin, and with a huff of laughter, he vanished into his room. Cae turned in such a daze that he very nearly smacked his forehead into the bathroom door.

“I hate that you were forced to this,” Caethari said suddenly. I glanced at him, unsettled by the genuine distress in his tone. “I feel as if I’ve stolen you, like some ogre in a story.” “A handsome ogre, if so,” I said, trying to lighten things. “And even if you have stolen me, it was not from anything to which I either could or would return, had I the option.”

Always my fave take on batb

I smiled, the expression as small as my past horizons. “Stolen me? As well to say a caged bird can be stolen by the sky.”

The Garden Hall, it transpired, was so named because its long side walls were lined with lush, living plants. Elaborate raised planters of stone and wood were filled with rich earth where fruits and flowers grew, while the ceiling overhead alternated stone and glass in a checkered pattern, ensuring that the vegetation didn’t lack for light. A long wooden table dominated the centre of the room, while the rear wall housed another pair of double-doors, both of which were thrown open to reveal a semicircular stone balcony—we were on the third floor of the Aida, I belatedly recalled. The effect was so beautiful that it took me a moment to notice that the room was lit, not by candles, but magelights, the first I’d seen in the Aida, flower-shaped enclosures of coloured glass set atop metal stands shaped like twining vines.

“I have lived a cramped life, it seems. So shy of having my greatest indiscretion discovered that I seldom dared indulge in simpler ones.” He lifted his head and looked at Cae, his gaze both soft and piercing. “You must be patient with me, dear Cae, as I learn to inhabit myself.”