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Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Follow the moon.”
Saffron wanted to hold Kaelar’s head under the pool until he fucking drowned.
An ancient god of the deepest night—who would demand blood in exchange for allowing the sun to ever return.
He crunched into his pile of apple-cheese-bread, slurping up a deluge of juices that spilled from the corners of his mouth. “Wow, stunning,” Cylvan mumbled. “Remember earlier when I said you cleaned up nicely? I take it back.”
“I’ve been told I’m hard to resist with other things dripping down my chin.” “Al—right,” Cylvan wheezed,
“Then I will always provide a sunny place for you to sleep, so you can rest from any bad memories you hold on to.”
“Until thine bones return to mud; call yourself, rowan blood.”
