Amanda Seales Quotes

Before common or high magick was sealed in a spellring or a cursering, it was considered raw. And raw magick was a tricky thing to find. It could appear at random: in the accidental shattering of a mirror, tucked into the pages of dusty books, dancing in a clover patch the hour after dawn. Nowadays, much of it was mass produced, farmed and bottled like high-fructose corn syrup, sprinkled as a primary ingredient in everything from lipstick to household cleaners. But not so much in Ilvernath, where the old ways stubbornly continued on. Isobel Macaslan examined the raw common magick shimmering white across the graveyard, like glitter caught in rain. People had magick inside them, too. If left uncollected, the wind picked it up and carried it away, where it would later nestle itself into forgotten places.

My hands, which for some reason keep ending up on his waist lately, curl into fists. Beta Sinta grabs one and holds on. “Let go,” I demand. “No.” My eyebrows snap together. “Why not?” “Because your gut reaction is always to punch, and I don’t like being tickled.” Tickled? Tickled! Indignation swamps me. I’ll show him a tickle. Before I can move, he drops the reins and captures my other hand, easily maneuvering both my hands into one of his. He picks the reins back up with the other. As usual, he gains the upper hand with disgustingly little effort, and I end up with both arms around him, my face buried in his back. Beta Sinta’s crisp, masculine scent of citrus and sunshine fills my nose. Hard muscle ripples under my cheek. I’m frighteningly aware of all the places his broad, powerful body touches mine, and I shiver despite the heat. “Let. Me. Go,” I grind out. “I. Said. No.” I open my mouth, teeth bared. “If you bite me, I swear to the Gods I’ll dumpyou off this horse and make you walk.” I close my mouth. The town is still miles away. “I won’t bite.” “Or punch.” I grit my teeth. “You’re asking a lot.” “Am I?” he drawls, tightening his grip on my wrists until I hiss. “Ow! Fine. Or punch.” His fingers loosen. “Is that your binding word?” My eyes widen. Beta Sinta says he needs me for information, but he already knows more about the ways of magic than is good for me. “Fine. It’s my binding word.” It’s like pulling my own teeth, but I’m desperate to stop hugging him. He’s too hot and…and…something. “Ever,” he stipulates. Something between a laugh and a snort explodes from me. “Don’t push your luck.” “A day, then. Starting now.” “Fine. A day,” I agree, fuming. He lets go of my wrists. I sit up so fast I almost tumble off the back of the horse. Beta Sinta’s chuckle is almost as irritating as the jolt of magic that seals the deal.

You're flawless when you embrace the things about you that you don't necessarily like, but you own them because they're yours.

Sunsets here were more an experience than a sight. They marked the soul. Pierced it, rearranged things with all that shifting color and light, and sealed it up again, a little more whole than it was before. The streaks of color across the sky just now were no exception.

He loves to help his friends with their problems—that’s his thing, it’s his gift. And if he wants to help you, and you let him help, it seals the deal.