Fate Breaker Quotes

“I know you don't believe in ghosts,' Sorasa murmured, holding her ground. 'But I do,' she said.
His chest filled with an unfamiliar feeling, an ache he could not name.
'Sorasa,' he began, but the crowd surged around them.
'Haunt me, Domacridhan.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“ Our paths have already been laid, our fates written by godly hands.
She only hopes the ink of their lives wove together for a little while still.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Thank you for coming with me.”
She knew it was no small thing. Dom was Monarch of Iona now, the leader of an enclave shattered by war and betrayal. He should have been at home with his people, helping them restore what was nearly lost forever.
Instead, he looked grimly down a sand dune, his clothes poorly suited to the climate, his appearance sticking sticking out of the desert like the sorest of thumbs. While so many things had changed, Dom’s ability to look out of place never did. He even wore his usual cloak, a twin to the one he lost months ago. The gray green had become a comfort like nothing else, just like the silhouette of his familiar form. He loomed always, never far from her side.
It was enough to make Sorasa’s eyes sting, and turn her face to hide in her hood for a long moment.
Dom paid it no notice, letting her recover. Instead, he fished an apple from his saddlebags and took a noisy bite.
“I saved the realm,” he said, shrugging. The least I can do is try to see some of it.”
Sorasa was used to Elder manners by now. Their distant ways, their inability to understand subtle hints. The side of her mouth raised against her hood, and she turned back to face him, smirking.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she said again.
“Oh,” he answered, shifting to look at her. The green of his eyes danced, bright against the desert. “Where else would I go?”
Then he passed the rest of the apple over to her. She finished the rest without a thought.
His hand lingered, though, scarred knuckles on a tattooed arm.
She did not push him away. Instead, Sorasa leaned, so that her shoulder brushed his own, putting some of her weight on him.
“Am I still a waste of arsenic?” he said, his eyes never moving from her face.
Sorasa stopped short, blinking in confusion. “What?”
“When we first met.” His own smirk unfurled. “You called me a waste of arsenic.”
In a tavern in Byllskos, after I dumped poison in his cup, and watched him drink it all. Sorasa laughed at the memory, her voice echoing over the empty dunes. In that moment, she thought Domacridhan was her death, another assassin sent to kill her. Now she knew he was the opposite entirely.
Slowly, she raised her arm and he did not flinch. It felt strange still, terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.
His cheek was cool under under her hand, his scars familiar against her palm. Elders were less affected by the desert heat, a fact that Sorasa used to her full advantage.
“No,” she answered, pulling his face down to her own. “I would waste all the arsenic in the world on you.”
“Is that a compliment, Amhara?” Dom muttered against her lips.
No, she tried to reply.
On the golden sand, their shadows met, grain by grain, until there was no space left at all.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“To his surprise, Sorasa moved with him. She looked straight ahead, refusing to meet his eye. Instead, she fussed with the chain mail beneath her jacket, trying to adjust the metal rings. Clearly she despised it, her usually fluid motions slower and more stilted.
He opened his mouth to taunt her, to say anything, to grasp one more second at her side.
“Thank you for wearing armor,” he growled. It was the only thing left to say.
He expected a quick, poisonous retort. Instead, Sorasa looked up at him. Her copper eyes wavered, filled with all the emotion she no longer cared to hide.
“Iron and steel won’t save us from dragon fire,” she said, all regret, her mouth barely moving.
Again, Dom wanted to stay, lingering one last moment, his eyes locked on her own.
“I know you don't believe in ghosts,” Sorasa murmured, holding her ground. She did not move closer, or move at all, letting the crowd of Elders break around her.
A Vedera who falls in this realm falls forever, Dom thought, the old belief a sudden curse.
Sorasa’s eyes shimmered, swimming with tears she would never allow herself to shed. She looked like she did on the beach after the shipwreck, torn apart by grief.
“But I do,” she said.
His chest filled with an unfamiliar feeling, an ache he could not name.
“Sorasa,” he began, but the crowd surged around them, his Vederan soldiers too many to ignore. Every part of him wanted to stay rooted, though he knew he could not.
She would not reach chin, her hands pressed to her sides, her chin raised and jaw set. Whatever tears she carried faded, pushed down into the unfeeling well of an Amhara heart.
“Haunt me, Domacridhan.”
The tide of the army swelled before he could muster an answer. While Sorasa stood against it, Dom let himself be carried. While his body marched, his heart stayed behind, broken as it was, already burning.
Her last words followed him all the way down to the city gates.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“As in Gidastern, something came over Andry Trelland. Before he knew it, her gloved hand was at his mouth, his lips brushing over her knuckles.
She did not pull away, only staring, holding his gaze. For a moment, only her eyes existed, a black sky. He wanted to fill it with blazing stars.
"Hold on to afterward," he said to her hand. "Whatever your afterward is, hold on to it.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“You have grown, Erida," he said, his voice rough and dry, "Grown into something terrible."

"I am what you made me," she said, taking a step toward him. "I am the punishment you have earned. A woman in the place you sought to fill. A woman who holds all you tried to take. Better than you in every single way, greater than you could ever dream to become. You tried to put me on the pyre, my lord, but it is you who will burn.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“You should have gone with them,” she said, lifting her chin to look at Taristan. The smoke grew so thick she could hardly see him through the shadows, the strange realm burning around them.
But she could still feel his arms, wrapped around her as they were, holding them both together until some kind of ending came.
“To what?” he answered, his voice raspy with smoke.
Erida heaved another choking breath, the heat of the flames buffeting her back. Tears slipped from her eyes and Erida curled into him, as if she might disappear into Taristan entirely.
“To anything but this,” she cried out, looking back to where the Spindle used to be. “There is nothing for you here.”
Taristan only stared. “Yes, there is.”
The fires spread, so close now Erida feared her armor might melt off her body. But there was nowhere to go, nothing to do. They had no blade. They had no doorways. There was only Taristan in front of her, the long years of his life welling up in his eyes.
She knew them as much as anyone could. An orphan, a mercenary, a prince. A discarded child ripe for the picking, set on this terrible path for so terribly long.
Did it always lead here? she wondered. Has this always been our fate?
The steps shuddered behind her, one of them crumbling entirely. What Waits hissed with the cracking stone, closer by the second. The demon within called to the demon without, the two of them connected like a piece of rope pulling taut.
Erida swallowed against the sensation, feeling her control slip.
She gripped Taristan tighter, blinking fiercely.
My mind is my own. My mind is my own.
But her own voice began to fade, even in her head. She saw the same in Taristan, the same war raging behind his eyes. Before it could seize them both, Erida seized her prince by the neck, pulling his face to her own. He tasted like blood and smoke, but she reveled in it.
“Does this make you mine?” Taristan whispered, his hand against her jaw.
It was the same question he once asked so long ago, when Erida could give no answer. It felt foolish now, a stupid thing to hesitate over. Especially as another took over her head, conquering her mind as she tried to conquer the world.
“Yes,” she answered, kissing him again. Kissing him until the flames pressed in, until she couldn’t breathe. Until her vision went black.
Until the first footstep landed on the grass, the dirt going to ashes, beneath Him, and all the realms shook with the weight of it.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Her heart still yearned, but what heart did not?”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“My fate is my own,” Corayne snarled aloud, to Taristan and the demon god hammering his way through the realms. “To claim or break.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Isibel,” he began.
Her sword moved so quickly even Dom could not see the steel, nor feel the blade as it plunged through his body. There was only the hole it left behind, through steel, cloth, and immortal flesh.
The roaring in his head intensified, as if a hurricane tore through the castle. He blinked slowly, his knees going weak.
Andry grabbed for Corayne, restraining her before she could lunge at his traitorous aunt.
“My daughter is dead because of you,” Isibel screamed, her gray eyes gone to white fire. Dom only heard her as if through water, distant and muffled. “It is only fair I return the favor.”
As her voice worked through his mind, so did the pain work through his shock. It was dull at first, then so sharp his vision spun. Dom expected the smack of his body hitting the ground, but it never came.
Small, wiry arms caught him instead, lowering him to the ground with her, until his back rested against her chest. Bronze fingers worked at the buckles of his armor, tearing off the plates of steel and tossing them away to expose the wound beneath. The same hands ripped his shirt apart and pressed the scraps against the hole in his torso. Despite her quick thinking, blood bubbles through Sorasa’s fingers. Her face crumpled at the sight of it, and Dom knew.
This would not be like a dagger to his ribs. Sorasa Sarn could not sew up this wound.
“It’s fine,” she hissed, lying, one hand still holding pressure. The other went around his chest, drawing him to her, letting him lean back into her body. “It’s fine.”
“That is what mortals say when they are in grave pain,” he sputtered, choking on his own blood.
A tear hit his cheek, the only one Sorasa would spare.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“We are in Calidon,” she muttered, eyeing the mountains again. It was not yet spring, but purple flowers clung between shore and rising cliff. “Your country.”
Dom shook his head. “Hardly mine. Most Calidonians do not believe my people exist anymore, and the ones who do wish they could forget us entirely.”
I share the sentiment,” Sorasa answered dryly.
Next to her, Dom grinned. “Mortal humor. I know it too well by now.”
Sorasa tried to smile but failed, squinting at the landscape.
His face wiped clean. “What?”
“I know little of this place,” she answered, grinding her teeth. It made her temple throb again.
Dom’s smirk felt worse. He eyed her with a rare look, mischievous, like a child with a secret.
“Are you asking for help, Sorasa Sarn?” the Elder teased.
Sorasa wanted to stand up, but doubted she could with any grace. Instead, she stayed rooted, her fists curling in the sand until tiny stones pressed between her fingers.
“I will deny it if you tell anyone,” she hissed, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth.
To her horror, Dom’s smirk only widened and Sorasa realized she had made a terrible error. A grace miscalculation. Don understood more than she realized. And knew the Amhara better than she ever thought possible.
Then his hand found her wrist. She jumped in her skin, almost yelping as he helped her to her feet.
Thankfully, she did not falter.
“I thought you hated it,” he said, the smirk still curling. It made her want to hit him again.
“What?” Sorasa snapped.
Dom let her wrist drop.
“Hope.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“The wind stirred his loose hair and Sorasa assessed him for the first time since her memory failed. Since the deck of the Tyri ship caught fire, and someone seized her around the middle, plunging them both into the dark waves.
She did not need to guess to know who.
Dom’s clothing was torn but long dry. He still wore the leather jerkin with the undershirt, but his borrowed cloak had been left to feed the sea serpents. The rest of him looked intact. He had only a few fresh cuts across the backs of his hands, like a terrible rope burn. Scales, Sorasa knew. The sea serpent coiled in her head, bigger than the mast, its scales flashing a dark rainbow.
Her breath caught when she realized he wore no sword belt, nor sheath. Nor sword.
“Dom,” she bit out, reaching between them. Only her instincts caught her, her hand freezing inches above his hip.
His brow furrowed again, carving a line of concern.
“Your sword.”
The line deepened, and Sorasa understood. She mourned her own dagger, earned so many decades ago, now lost to a burning palace. She could not imagine what Dom felt for a blade centuries old.
“It is done,” he finally said, fishing into his shirt.
The collar pulled, showing a line of white flesh, the planes of hard muscle rippling beneath. Sorasa dropped her eyes, letting him fuss.
Only when something soft touched her temple did she look up again.
Her heart thumped.
Dom did not meet her gaze, focused on his work, cleaning her wound with a length of cloth.
It was the fabric that made her breath catch.
Little more than a scrap of gray green. Thin but finely made by master hands. Embroidered with silver antlers.
It was a piece of Dom’s old cloak, the last remnant of Iona. It survived a kraken, an undead army, a dragon, and the dungeons of a mad queen.
But it would not survive Sorasa Sarn.
She let him work, her skin aflame beneath his fingers. Until the last bits of blood were gone, and the last piece of his home tossed away.
“Thank you,” she finally said to no reply.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“It was not like her to lose her senses. The ability to drift was beaten from her long ago. But Sorasa drifted now, pacing the beach.
She did not hear the shift of sand, or the heavy scuff of boots over the loose stones. There was only the wind.
Until a strand of gold blew across her vision, joined by a warm unyielding palm against her shoulder. Her body jolted as she turned, nose to nose with Domacridhan of Iona. His green eyes glittered, his mouth open as he shouted something again, his voice swallowed up by the droning in her own head.
“Sorasa.”
It came to her slowly, as if through deep water. Her own name, over and over again. She could only stare back into the verdant green, lost in the fields of his eyes. In her chest, her heart stumbled. She expected her body to follow.
Instead, her fist closed and her knuckles met cheekbone.
Dom was good enough to turn his head, letting the blow glance off. Begrudgingly, Sorasa knew he had spared her a broken hand on top of everything else.
“How dare you,” she forced out, trembling.
Whatever concern he wore burned away in an instant.
“How dare I what? Save your life?” he snarled, letting her go
Sorasa swayed without his support. She clenched her own jaw, fighting to maintain her balance lest she fall to pieces entirely.
“Is that another Amhara lesson?” he raged on, throwing up both arms. “When given the choice between death or indignity, choose death?!”
Hissing, Sorasa looked back to the spot where she woke up. Heat crept up her face as she realized her body left a trail through the sand when he dragged her up from the tide line. A blind man would have noticed it. But not Sorasa in her fury and grief.
“Oh,” was all she could manage. Her mouth flapped open, her mind spinning. Only the truth came, and that was far too embarrassing. “I did not see. I—”
Her head throbbed again and she pressed a hand to her temple, wincing away from his stern glare.
“I will feel better if you sit,” Dom said stiffly.
Despite the pain, Sorasa loosed a growl. She wanted to stand just to spite him, but thought better of it. With a huff, she sank, cross-legged on the cool sand.
Dom was quick to follow, almost blurring. It made her head spin again.
“So you saved me from the shipwreck just to abandon me here?” Sorasa muttered as Dom opened his mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. Time is of the essence now. A wounded mortal will only slow you down.”
She expected him to bluster and lie. Instead, his brow furrowed, lines creasing between his still vivid eyes. The light off the ocean suited him.
“Are you? Wounded?” he asked gently, his gaze raking over her. His focus snagged on her temple, and the gash there. “Anywhere else, I mean?”
For the first time since she woke, Sorasa tried to still herself. Her breath slowed as she assessed herself, feeling her own body from toes to scalp. As her awareness traveled, she noted every blooming bruise and cut, every dull ache and shooting pain.
Bruises ribs. A sprained wrist.
Her tongue flicked in her mouth. Scowling, she spit out a broken tooth.
“No, I’m not wounded,” she said aloud.
Dom’s desperate smile broke wide. He went slack against the sand for an instant, falling back on his elbows to tip his face to the sky. His eyes fluttered shut only for a moment.
Sorasa knew his gods were too far. He had said so himself. The gods of Glorian could not hear their children in this realm.
Even so, Sorasa saw it on his face. Dom prayed anyway. In his gratitude or anger, she did not know.
“Good,” he finally said, sitting back up.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“With a snarl of pain, she forced herself to sit up, her head spinning with the sudden movement. One hand touched her temple, sticky with dried blood. She winced, feeling a gash along her eyebrow. It was long but shallow, and already scabbing over.
She clenched her jaw, teeth grinding, as she surveyed the beach with squinting eyes. The ocean stared back at her, empty and endless, a wall of iron blue. Then she noticed shapes along the beach, some half-buried in the sand, others caught in the rhythmic pull of the tide. She narrowed her eyes and the shapes solidified.
A torn length of sail floated, tangled up with rope. A shattered piece of the mast angled out of the sand like a pike. Smashed crates littered the beach, along with other debris from the ship. Bits of hull. Rigging. Oars snapped in half.
The bodies moved with the waves.
Her steady breathing lost its rhythm, coming in shorter and shorter gasps until she feared her throat might close.
Her thoughts scattered, impossible to grasp.
All thoughts but one.
“DOMACRIDHAN!”
Her shout echoed, desperate and ragged.
“DOMACRIDHAN!”
Only the waves answered, crashing endless against the shore.
She forgot her training and forced herself to stand, nearly falling over with dizziness. Her limbs aches but she ignored it, lunging toward the waterline. Her lips moved, her voice shouting his name again, though she couldn’t hear it above the pummel of her own heart.
Sorasa Sarn was no stranger to corpses. She splashed into the waves with abandon, even as her head spun.
Sailor, sailor, sailor, she noted, her desperation rising with every Tyri uniform and head of black hair. One of them looked ripped in half, missing everything from the waist down. His entrails floated with the rear of him, like a length of bleached rope.
She suspected a shark got the best of him.
Then her memories returned with a crash like the waves.
The Tyri ship. Nightfall. The sea serpent slithering up out of the deep. The breaking of a lantern. Fire across the deck, slick scales running over my hands. The swing of a greatsword, Elder-made. Dom silhouetted against a sky awash with lightning. And then the cold, drowning darkness of the ocean.
A wave splashed up against her and Sorasa stumbled back to the shore, shivering. She had not waded more than waist deep, but her face felt wet, water she could not understand streaking her cheeks.
Her knees buckled and she fell, exhausted. She heaved a breath, then two.
And screamed.
Somehow the pain in her head paled in comparison to the pain in her heart. It dismayed and destroyed her in equal measure. The wind blew, stirring salt-crusted hair across her face, sending a chill down to her soul. It was like the wilderness all over again, the bodies of her Amhara kin splayed around her.
No, she realized, her throat raw. This is worse. There is not even a body to mourn.
She contemplated the emptiness for awhile, the beach and the waves, and the bodies gently pressing into the shore. If she squinted, they could only be debris from the ship, bits of wood instead of bloated flesh and bone.
The sun glimmered on the water. Sorasa hated it.
Nothing but clouds since Orisi, and now you choose to shine. ”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Not that I understand the Spindle talk anyways. Other realms and demon lords. Corblood princes. Magical swords. Quite the mess you’ve put us in.”
With another tsk, Charlie settled down next to him, tucking himself tight against the assassin.
“If you recall, I was dragged into this against my will,” he muttered.
Garion glanced at him sidelong, eyes sharp. “And you chose to stay in it.”
“I did,” Charlie replied, thoughtful. As much for himself as for Garion. His voice softened. “I chose to do something with myself, if only something small.”
He expected Garion to laugh at him. Instead, the man held his gaze, his dark eyes melting. Their fingers brushed, then wove together.
“Small things matter too,” Garion muttered, looking back to the sky.
Charlie did not, memorizing instead the lines of Garion’s face and the feel of the sun on their joined hands. The smell of roses, and more rain, not yet fallen, but soon to come.
“Yes, indeed.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“What Wait hangs heavy over us all, it seems,” the Heir added, shaking their head.
“And heaviest on Corayne.” Charlie shrugged beneath his furs, cursing the realm. “It isn’t fair.”
Isadere of Ibal, born royal and holy, have him a withering, almost pitying look.
“When have you ever known the world to be fair, Priest?”
“True” was all he could muster, watching the last rolls of thunder, and wretched lightning.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Fear threatened to swallow her up. It clawed at her inside, a beast with too many teeth. Do not let it rule, she told herself, repeating the old Amhara teaching. Do not let it rule. Do not let it rule.
She refused to think beyond the world in front of her. Refused to let her mind spiral with hideous possibility. It was a hole she would never dig out of.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“You are odder than I expected,” she chuckled.
He quirked a brow at her. “And what did you expect?”
The pirate captain paused, licking her lips.
“Someone colder,” she finally said, looking him up and down. “Made of stone instead of flesh. Less mortal. Like all the things Cortael tried to be.”
The wind blew over the harbor again, smelling of salt. He turned into it, facing the docks and little ship. A familiar figure ran its deck, checking the rigging, though she was no sailor. It was not like Sorasa Sarn to remain still.
Dom heaved a breath. “I was that way once.”
The shadow of a smile crossed Meliz’s face as she followed his gaze. “Love does that.”
His throat tightened and his jaw clenched, teeth gritted so tightly Dom could not speak if he tried.
Meliz only gave a wave of her hand. “I’m referring to my daughter and the love you bear her.” Her grin widened mischievously. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Dom managed, wrenching his eyes away from the port. His entire body felt hot with embarrassment, if not indignance.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“What kind of god allows such times as these?”
Shuddering, Dom went cold, despite the sunlight and the warm southern breeze.
“It is not only a god who brings about this doom,” he said. “But the heart of a mortal man.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“It’s all right to get things wrong,” he said. “It’s how we learn to do things properly.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Trust is as much a weapon as anything else.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Trust us as much a weapon as anything else.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Her own fears seemed endless, looped around her neck in an unbreakable chain. She wondered what it would mean to be free of her misgivings and worst thoughts. To be so strong as to be beyond fear itself. Where only glory and greatness remained.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Fear is not so terrible as we make it out to be,” she said. “Fear means you have a head on your shoulders, a good one. It means you have a heart, as much as you try to hide it from the rest of us.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“There is much I cannot say, Bella,” she muttered.
Harrsing touched her gently. “You are afraid.”
Blinking, Erida weighed her response. The candles flickered and she sighed. There was no use in lying.
“I am,” she admitted.
For so many reasons.
To her surprise, Harrsing only shrugged, her narrow shoulders rising and falling beneath the swoop of her nightgown.
“That is necessary.”
Erida could not help but balk. “What?”
The old woman shrugged again.
“Fear is not so terrible as we make it out to be,” she said. “Fear means you have a head on your shoulders, a good one. It means you have a heart, as much as you try to hide it from the rest of us.”
Like Erida, Lady Harrsing had her own mask, shaped from decades in the royal court. She let it slip to show a smile of her own, warmer and softer than a candle. It made Erica’s heart twist.
“A king of queen without fear would be a horrific thing indeed,” she added with a scoff.
Erida could not agree. Her own fears seemed endless, looped around her neck in an unbreakable chain. She wondered what it would mean to be free of her misgivings and worst thoughts. To be so strong as to be beyond fear itself. Where only glory and greatness remained.
Lady Harrsing arched an eyebrow, watching the Queen. “To be feared is another thing entirely.”
“That is necessary too,” Erida replied swiftly.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“What would anyone give to earn their destiny? To rule their fate?” he pushed on, shaking his head. “Imagine you are not queen of all you see, but still feel that power in you, just waiting to be grasped? What would you give to take it?”
Erida did not need to think long. She felt sick and determined, all at the same time.
“Anything.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“We have a long road ahead of us, Dom. Make ready for it.”
Much as she tried to hide it, Dom saw the exhaustion creep over her. He felt it too, heavier than anything he’d ever carried. It ran bone-deep now, after so many months. Only moving forward kept it at bay.
Dom did not know what to do now, when he could run no further, and do nothing but wait.
“Where does that road go?” he asked bitterly. Slowly, he unbuckled the belt around his hips, and laid down the greatsword among Sorasa’s things.
She sat on the cramped bed, if only to give him room to move around the narrow cabin.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she huffed. “Better, probably.”
He quirked a blond brow at her. “How so?”
“You have good hearts, you and Corayne. You think differently than I can.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked, confused.
Her laugh was menacing as she leaned back against a meager pillow, her eyes half-lidded.
“No.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Somehow, clad in her nightclothes, surrounded by ashes, Erida still played the part of imperious queen.
"Even I know immortals can burn," she said.
"So long as you burn with me, I die well.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“All these months, Sigil was a wall behind her, someone to lean on, as close to a trustworthy friend as Sorasa had. After almost losing her in Gidastern, farewell felt like salt in a still-bleeding wound.
But Sorasa respected Sigil too much to embarrass her with goodbyes.
Our paths have already been laid, our fates written by godly hands.
She only hoped the ink of their lives wove together for a little while still.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker

“Erida looked away from them to the grand altar of the Konrada, magnificent in marble and gilding. She remembered what it felt like to stand there, before the faces of the gods, a veil on her head, a sword in her hand, with Taristan beside her. She did not love him then, when she pledged her life to his own. She had no idea what path lay before her, what fate was already made.
Her right hand lay curled in her lap now, half-covered in bandages. A little blood had already begun to seep through, staining everything around it.
“The last time you and I were here, we held the marriage sword between us,” she said.
Taristan’s face went stone-blank in his usual way. It was his shield and crutch, Erida knew. After a childhood like his own, abandoned to the world, his emotions were always a burden. Always a weakness.
“Good that I am not a man,” she continued. “I will never hold a sword again.”
One of his fingers twitched at his side, the only indication of Taristan’s discomfort.
“Your heart is sword enough,” he ground out, his eyes on her face.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Fate Breaker