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Mmm, not a bad book so far but I’m not sure it is worth the 17€ I paid for it...

The pain had risen in his face. I said no more, but as we walked my mind kept picking at the thought, like fingers at a knot. There was a secret beneath that spider-silk...

I paced the rocks. I had walked the earth for a hundred generations, yet I was still a child to myself. Rage and grief, thwarted desire, lust, self-pity : these are emotions gods know well. But guilt and shame, remorse, ambivalence, those are foreign countries to our kind, which must be learned stone by stone.

So easy to read. This second read disappoints...

Not fascinating so far ...

Uh ?
I don't think I want to keep reading this book. I know 8% is a bit early but sometimes, I can tell this soon.

I already don't like the heroin-to-be (Maerad) ...

Ah well.
Next

Starting to get bored... Enough of Vetch cleaning, Vetch eating, Vetch sleeping, and then again Vetch cleaning, eating, sleeping... *sigh*

He stepped away. The mannequin, the boy and the pillared hall exploded into wisps and trails. [...] burst across the maelstrom of the Other Place, among the lights and whirling colors.

The buffalo turned round and gave him a long, hard stare. In truth, a bit of surveillance was infinitely preferable to joing a war - battles have a nasty habit of getting out of control.

The shattering of an elemental sphere in an enclosed space is always a frightening and destructive act : the smaller the space, or the bigger the sphere, the worse the consequences are. It was fortunate for Nathaniel and for the majority of the magicians with him that Westminster Hall was extremely large and the tossed sphere relatively small.

They burst out of the palace, onto a landing, and looked down at a landscape transformed. It was raining, hard and steadily, lit by intermittent flashes of lightning. The dooryard was swimming in mud already, but in the center was a knot of men, strangely still.

"You have a genius for trouble, Vasilii Petrovich," (he) said, resignedly, ...

One day when I was ten, one of our neighbors came to the house and said the tsar was dead and when I asked what it meant they said that there would be a new tsar. So I did not really see why a tsar mattered. And now that I had seen a tsar, I did not want anything to do with one.

I sat there wooden as a doll; I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to feel anything, and at first I only resented it, that he had the bad taste to weep in front of me as if he had the right to expect me to care, but I had never heard anyone weep so. I had been afraid, and I had been hurt, and I had sorrowed, but I didn’t have cries like that inside me.

He was still kind, but I thought that he had not felt kind and that was why he had been quiet. I thought that meant he must be very worried. So then I was very worried.

This story is enchanting ...

I retreated to my unwelcoming bedchamber and sat on the pallet, thinking. Even with the mirror gone, I could hardly bear the idea of stepping back over the library threshold.