Princeps' Fury (Codex Alera, #5)

by Jim Butcher

Gaius’s study, its walls lined with the carcasses of books he had torn open and devoured, reminded her of nothing so much as old Aldo’s hunting lodge, back in the Calderon Valley, and she thought it only marginally less boastful.

But she’d read enough of them to know that they were only as valuable as the contents of their writers’ minds—and to her it seemed that a great many writers, had they been merchants, would have precious little inventory.

“I look out my window each day. I look out my window at people who live and breathe. At people who have not been devoured by civil war. At people who have not been ravaged by disease. At people who have not starved to death, who have not been hacked apart by enemies of humanity, at people who are free to lie and steal and plot and complain and accuse and behave in all manner of repugnant ways because the Realm stands. Because law and order stands. Because something other than simple violence shapes the course of their lives. And I look, wife of my son, mother of my heir, at a very few decent people who have had the luxury of living their lives without being called upon to make hideous decisions I would not wish upon my worst enemies, and who consequently find such matters morally appalling when they consider them—because they have not had to be the ones who dealt with them.” He took a short, hard swallow of wine. “Feh. Aquitaine thinks me his enemy. The fool. If I truly hated him, I’d give him the Crown.”

“Ambassador,” Max said, “in the course of my life, I have more than once been too ignorant to know that something was impossible before I did it anyway. I see no reason to jeopardize that success.”

hardly a man ever made a fool of himself by keeping his bloody mouth shut.

“Raising a child isn’t complicated, love. It isn’t easy, but it isn’t complicated, either.”

“You just love them more than air and water and light. From there, everything else comes naturally.”

Of course, one would have to be mad or desperate to stand in the path of a fleeing grass lion armed only with a medium-weight hunting bow—much less that of a Vord-possessed grass lion. Amara supposed she qualified as at least one of those things, though she did not care to examine too closely which one.

“Explain again to me the difference between hypothesis and make-believe.”

“Frankly, sire, I believe I’m entirely too terrified to offer you a useful opinion for the time being.”

Who could speak to the First Lord like that?

To whom would the First Lord speak like that?

Ehren turned toward the door, but paused, looking back at the First Lord. “Are you going to be all right, sire?” The First Lord, his silver hair plastered to his head by the rain, stared down at the valley to the south and shook his head slowly. “None of us are going to be all right.”

“You will tell him that I am disinclined to be moved anywhere by any will but my own.”

“True power has nothing to do with furies.” She pressed her thumb firmly to the center of his forehead. “Strong, stupid enemies are easily defeated. Intelligent foes are always dangerous. You have grown in strength. Do not permit yourself to grow in stupidity.” Her hand moved to caress his cheek. “You are one of the most dangerous men I know.”

“Fear is an enemy. Respect it. But do not let it conquer you before the fight has begun.”

“That is your gift, Aleran.” She offered him the stack of papers. “Knowledge is your weapon.” Her eyes glittered. “Kill them with it.”

“I ever invade Calderon again,” he said, “it will be in the summer.”

“Sometimes you don’t know the most important things,” Tavi said. “You believe them.”

“Finally. I know how it must feel to be Tavi.”

“Only a fool seeks a quarrel with a tavar.”

“And it worked. You are a marvelous stalking cow.” “Horse,” Tavi corrected wearily. “Stalking horse.” Kitai tilted her head. “What idiot would so endanger a perfectly good horse?”

“How many times have I lied to you?” Tavi asked.

“Tavar, I sometimes think you are insane.” “Are you coming with me?” Varg glanced at him, and Tavi swore he could see something offended in the big Cane’s body language. “Of course.” Tavi showed him his teeth again. “Glad I’m not the only one.”

“Any man with a brain in his head looks for three things in anyone he’ll follow: will, brains, and a heart.”

If Tavi had known, when he was younger, how much of war depended upon vast and complex ways of organizing where people were supposed to walk, eat, sleep, and relieve themselves, he thought he would have had a completely different opinion on the subject.

All things pass in time. We are far less significant than we imagine ourselves to be. All that we are, all that we have wrought, is but a shadow, no matter how durable it may seem. One day, when the last man has breathed his last breath, the sun will shine, the mountains will stand, the rain will fall, the streams will whisper—and they will not miss him.