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Fulren couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the thickly muscled specimen lying there in the straw and dirt, his waxed moustache all askew. The levity didn’t last long as he felt the cold edge of a rapier blade at his throat. He froze, letting his sword arm slowly drop to his side. “You’re finished, son of Hawkspur,” the woman whispered in his ear.
Called it. Books like this are so predictable. Just once, let the female character lose. I promise, it's not going to empower the patriarchy if a female character isn't perfect.
“You have to do something,” Fulren shouted over the din of battle. She glared up at him, doubt in her eyes. “I… I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she replied. The reavers battered at the circle of spears, and another Maladoran warrior fell. “We don’t have time for this,” Fulren growled. “You have to act. And act now.” Wenis nodded, heartened by his words, standing as tall and straight as she could.
This writing is god-awful.
The remaining arcanist thralls had collapsed, their duties now at an end, as well as their lives. Fulren should have felt at least some sorrow at their passing, but he did not pity them anymore. Their suffering was over. Best he think about himself now, and what awaited him within the dark tower.
“Nothing,” announced Bekis. General Serapion took a step forward. “Enough of this,” he said, voice deep and sonorous. He pointed an accusing finger at Fulren. “It is obvious this boy is guilty. Even his own people judged him so. Execute him now and we can be done with this—”
This book is so bad. This makes no sense! Why would the pretend that they're going to judge him fairly if they're not even going to actually try? Nobody from Torwyn expected them to, they all expected him to just die, so why the facade?!
A letter from his mother, sitting there as though goading him. The story of his brother’s arrest and exile. The subtle intimation that he should return to the Anvil. He should feel guilty for refusing, but every time he thought about her it only made him angry, filling him with spite, and the more he tried to put it from his mind the worse it plagued him. How dare she insinuate such demands? He owed her nothing.
He wanted to go earlier, wtf?!
Alarm bells clanged in the distance, growing louder the closer they got to the platform. By the time the carriage screeched to a stop, Lancelin could hear those bells chiming like a Guild wedding. He drew his sword, wrenching open the door and pulling Fulren out onto the platform. Bells reverberated all around them. The rest of the debarking passengers, panicked by the noise, gasped in fright and moved from Lancelin’s path when they saw the blade in his hand. If there’d been any hope of them getting lost in the crowd, it was gone now.
Well, why do you think that is Lancelin?
