Chasm (The Glacian Trilogy, #2)

by Stacey McEwan

Soon, every terror, every memory, every feeling will be snuffed, but looming death has a tenacity for dredging up every dark and terrible thought from the depths of the mind.

Goodness can hide amongst the bad, just as evil can wrap itself in righteousness.

Hate is resilient. Fathers pass it on to their sons.”

“Sometimes you need to reteach a thing its loveliness,

“When will the day come that you men learn to say less?”

And he understands now, why wars are so often won and lost upon the promise of mercy, because here is his heart, wrenched outside of himself, twisting before him in the snow, and he’d give entire kingdoms to ease the torment.

In the day, she is a fortress. She will not be dissuaded. But her will always wanes with the light.

Perhaps it is his inability to speak that appeals to her.

Then, in a procession of cruel coincidence, several things happen at once, all with aching, serendipitous precision.

“I’ve seen men do a lot of strange things to make peace with a small cock,” she jeers, pointing her ax at his crotch. “But I’ve never seen one grow wings and demand to be called a king.”