Tsalmoth (Vlad Taltos, #16)

by Steven Brust

“I will inform the Lord Morrolan you are here,” she said, as if he hadn’t already been informed. Good manners means lying a lot.

Fortunately, everyone was looking at the Necromancer, who promptly dissolved into a shower of golden sparks, as per protocol.

Also, “it isn’t as bad as it looks” is not as comforting as you might think.

“You seem like the same person to me,” she said after running a quick test. “I don’t think that’s conclusive, but you’re welcome to keep trying.”

I said, “If I weren’t, would I tell you?” He chuckled. “Just hoping for meaningless reassurance.” “You may have to settle for catharsis.” He looked puzzled, but didn’t ask, so I didn’t explain.

“No, I don’t like learning. It means doing things I don’t know how to do right, and I hate that.”

“Vlad, you shouldn’t hang around people who go by honorifics instead of names. They always get you in trouble.”

“May I offer you wine? It isn’t poisoned.” I’d been about to accept until she brought up the idea that it might be poisoned.

We moved a table, and it was as good as I’d thought it would be.