“
I mean, wouldn’t it be grand, to have a legend that grew while you were alive to enjoy it? To sit in a tavern and hear all the people around you speak of what you’ve done, with no notion that you were among them as flesh and blood?”
“I can sit in a tavern and be ignored anytime I please,” muttered Calo.
“I want to see the Kingdom of the Marrows someday,” said Sabetha. “Game my way from city to city…on the arms of nobles, emptying their pockets as I go, charming them witless. I’d be like a force of nature. They’d come up with some elegant title for their shared affliction. ‘It was her… it was… it was the Rose.’”
Sabetha rolled this off her tongue, obviously savoring it.
“The Rose of the Marrows, they’ll say. ‘The Rose of the Marrows has been my ruin!’ And they’ll tear their hair out explaining everything to their wives and bankers, while I ride on to the next city.”
“Are we all going to need stupid nicknames, then?” said Calo. “We could be…the Shrubs of the North.”
“The Weeds of Vintila,” said Galdo.
“And if you’re a rose,” said Calo, “Locke’s going to need something as well.”
“He can be a tulip,” said Galdo. “Delicate little tulip.”
“Nah, if she’s the rose, he can be her thorn,” Calo snapped his fingers. “The Thorn of Camorr! Now that’s got some shine to it!”
“That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” said Locke.
”
”