The Curse of Chalion (World of the Five Gods, #1)

by Lois McMaster Bujold

it’s time Iselle possessed her own warder, at the gate between her women’s world and the greater one she’ll have to deal with. And besides, none of those stupid governesses have ever been able to handle her. She needs a man’s authority, that’s what. You have the rank, you have the experience…” The Provincara…grinned, was all one could call that horrifying gleeful expression. “What do you think, my lord Castillar?” Cazaril swallowed. “I think…I think if you lent me a razor now, for me to cut my throat with, it would save ever so many steps. Please Your Grace.” The Provincara snorted. “Good, Cazaril, good. I do so like a man who doesn’t underestimate his situation.”

“Your governess flattered you, Royesse.” She frowned across at him. “I take it you do not fancy yourself a flatterer, Castillar?” Her tone and terms were a bit more double-leveled than he’d expected. His ironic return bow, from his seat on a chest drawn up to her table’s other side, was pulled shorter and a little less apologetic than he’d intended by the yank of his adhesions. “I trust I am not a complete lout. But if you desire a man to tell you comfortable lies about your prowess, and so fetter any hope of true excellence, I’m sure you may find one anywhere. Not all prisons are made of iron bars. Some are made of feather beds. Royesse.”

You’ve twice Ser dy Sanda’s wits, and ten times his travels! Why do you endure him so, so…” Betriz seemed at a loss for words. “Quietly,” she finally finished. She stared away for a moment, as if afraid he would construe she’d swallowed a term less flattering. Cazaril smiled crookedly at his unexpected partisan. “Do you think it would make him happier if I presented myself as a target for his foolishness?” “Clearly, yes!” “Well, then. Your question answers itself.”

The gods’ most savage curses come upon us as answers to our own prayers, you know.

“I’ve seen your integrity in action. It…widened my world. I’d been raised by my father, who is a prudent, cautious man, always looking for men’s hidden, selfish motivations. No one can cheat him. But I’ve seen him cheat himself. If you understand what I mean.”

I don’t understand. Was Ista mistaken? Did I miscount my deaths? The goddess laughed. Think it through…

“I could not write a poem to all of her just yet. I tried. Too overwhelming.” “Well, if you must scribble paeans to her body parts, pick lips. Lips are more romantic than noses.” “Why?” asked Cazaril. “Isn’t every part of her an amazement?” “Yes, but we kiss lips. We don’t kiss noses. Normally. Men write poems to the objects of our desire in order to lure them closer.” “How practical. In that case, you’d think men would write more poems to ladies’ private parts.”