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“What you learned in a palace,” he hissed, their identical faces close, “I learned better in the mud.”
“A king of ashes is still a king,”
Such is the way of mothers, to think the sun and the moon of their children.
“Your blood is born of the Spindles, of distant realms and lost stars. You want the horizon, Corayne of Old Cor. You want it in your bones,”
“There’s no end to what you want, to what you do. You enjoy the life you’ve chosen, and you won’t give it up for anyone. Not even for me.” It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact. Meliz clenched her jaw. “That doesn’t mean it’s a life I want for you.”
This is how all our troubles began. A line of horses on the road, a quest ahead, with Allward hanging in the balance.
A seed that grew and died in full bloom.
Corayne grabbed Dom’s arm and pulled him along by his cloak, like a dog on a leash.
the Ibalet woman pulled off the rest of her torn dress, revealing a wet shift and leggings beneath. Her silhouette was smaller but not slight, every muscle well formed and taut, like a piece of rope wound up on itself. More tattoos showed at her collar and wrists, where her bronze skin was exposed to the air. Andry glimpsed a bird’s wing and some Ibalet writing in curling script, a constellation, and a dagger like a half moon,
“I have nothing to ask, and the world to offer. I would give you my hand in marriage, and I would give you the realm entire.” He reached out, and even from a distance, she thought she could feel his fingers. “I am Taristan of Old Cor. I carry Spindleblood in my veins, a Spindleblade in my fist. Take them both.”
“Sorrow touches us all, Lord Domacridhan, whether we believe in it or not. It doesn’t matter what you call the thing ripping you apart. It will still devour you if given the chance.”
“You are a realm breaker, Taristan. You would crack this world apart and build an empire from its ruins.”
