Stolen Heir Quotes

It is hard to explain the savagery of hope.

My sister thinks that she’s the only one who can take poison, but I am poison,' he whispers, eyes half-closed, talking to himself. 'Poison in my blood. I poison everything I touch.

She's going to want to wear your skull for a hat," Oak warns. There is an uncomfortable shifting among the ex-falcons. Perhaps they are recalling their own choice to denounce her, their own punishment. "And Cardan is going to laugh and laugh when she does.

Sometimes life gives us the terrible gift of our own wishes come true.

he's the kind of beautiful that makes people want to smash things

The Folk adore Cardan, and they’re terrified of my sister, two excellent things. I hope they rule Elfhame for a years and then pass it down to one of a dozen offspring. No need for me to be involved.

That's what I've been for years. An unsister. An undaughter. An unperson. A girl with a hole for a life. How appropriate to have my tongue cut out, when silence has been my refuge and my cage.

Stop waiting. Sink those pretty little teeth into something.

With him, I am forever a night-blooming flower, attracted and repelled by the heat of the sun.

My greatest weakness has always been my desire for love. It is a yawning chasm within me, and the more that I reach for it, the more easily I am tricked. I am a walking bruise, an open sore. If Oak is masked, I am a face with all the skin ripped off. Over and over, I have told myself that I need to guard against my own yearnings, but that hasn’t worked.

Fear is not love, but it can appear much the same.

Another girl might have frozen, but I am cold all the way through.

Perhaps it is Oak who is the fool, who caught a wolf and thought that by putting it in a gown and speaking to it as though it were a girl, it would become one.

It can be brave to hate. Sometimes it’s like hope.

He's the kind of beautiful that makes people want to smash things.

But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.

And for a moment, I am viciously glad. It doesn't feel good exactly, to be in danger, but it does feel good to be the cause of events rather than being swept along into them.

I adore you. I want to play games with you. I want to tell you all the truths I have to give. And if you really think you’re a monster, then let’s be monsters together.

This is the problem with living by instinct. I don’t think.

All of Faerie is beautiful like this, with carnage hidden just beneath.

You and I are the remains of an unfulfilled legacy, heirs to a kingdom of stolen identities and ragged confusion.

Everything died in the Ice Citadel, but hope died first.

A small smile turns up a corner of my mouth. I feel the sharpness of my teeth and roll my tongue over them. For the first time, I like the feeling.

It seemed, in the beginning, that fighting back would only bring me further pain. That’s the lesson they wanted me taught, but soon I realized I would be hurt anyway. Better to hurt someone else when I had a chance. Better to make them hesitate, to know it would cost them something.

When his eyes meet mine, desire, as keen as any blade, bends the air between us. The moment slows. I want to bite his lip. To feel the heat of his skin. To slide my hands beneath his armor and trace the map of his scars.

I see her, and she sees me. I was death, and she was life. I thought I’d had stolen her, brought her down to the underworld. All the while she was waking me up. Stirring the blood in my veins. Breathing air into my lungs.

I see her, and she sees me. I was death, and she was life.

And that is why you ought not dramatically vow to obey someone. They seldom ask for what you hope they will.

Cardan is lying on the bed, bandaged and sulking, in a magnificent dressing gown. “I hate being unwell,” he says. “You’re not sick,” Jude tells him. “You are recovering from being stabbed—or rather, throwing yourself on a knife.” “You would have done the same for me,” he says airily. “I would not,” Jude snaps. “Liar,” Cardan says fondly.

Since no one loves me, I'll go.

How appropriate to have my tongue cut out, when silence has been my refuge and my cage.

Prince Oak, heir to Elfhame. Son of the traitorous Grand General and brother to the mortal High Queen. Oak, to whom I was once promised in marriage. Who had once been my friend, although he doesn’t seem to remember it.

I feel a little pummelled by Oak's beauty. If I look at him too long, I want to take a bite out of him.

Because I don’t like being the fool who’d been tricked. I like games, but I hate to lose.

Some people are ridiculous, especially when it comes to love.

But even with distance between us, the longing to touch him persists

There is too little beauty in the world,' says the prince airily. 'But that is not my area of greatest conceit.

I might be only sticks and snow and hag magic, but at least I did not come from her. I am no one's child. That makes me smile, showing red teeth.

As a child, Wren read lots of fairy tales. That's why, when the monsters came, she knew it was because she had been wicked.

Madoc seemed like the sort to roast him over a fire, consume his flesh, and call it love. By then, I had become familiar with love of that kind.

Oak desperately wants to stop Cardan from talking, but short of kicking him or throwing something at his head, he has no idea how.

I am a chasm that will never be full. I am hunger. I am need. I cannot be sated. If you try, I will swallow you up. I will take all of you and want more. I will use you. I will drain you until you are nothing more than a husk.

Whom have you fallen in love with?' I ask. 'Well, there was you,' the prince says. 'When we were children.' 'Me?' I ask incredulously. 'You didn't know?' He appears to be merry in the face of my astonishment. 'Oh yes. Though you were a year my senior, and it was hopeless, I absolutely mooned over you. When you were gone from Court, I refused any food but tea and toast for a month.' I cannot help snorting at the sheer absurdity of his statement. He puts a hand to my heart. 'Ah, and now you laugh. It is my curse to adore cruel women.

Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan said, opening one eye. “Because you do.” Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.” “That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king’s arms came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.

moja mała baletnica.” My little ballerina.

I imagine giving up. No more peering through windows, mourning the loss of a life that could never again be mine. No more hopeless desire. No more uncertain future. No more terror.

You will make an interesting High King,' I tell him. He looks alarmed. 'I most definitely will not. The Folk adore Cardan and they're terrified of my sister, two excellent things. I hope they rule Elfhame for a thousand years and then pass it down to one of a dozen offspring. No need for me to be involved.

Why does anyone want anyone else? [...] We do not love because people deserve it - nor would I want to be loved because I was the most deserving of some list of candidates. I want to be loved for my worst self as well as my best. I want to be forgiven my flaws.

A marriage strangles and dies on apathy. Passion keeps it alive.

My father used to tell me that once begun, a battle was a living thing and no one could control it.

Heir to Elfhame,” I say. “Get on your knees.

But now I feel that most dangerous emotion of all—guilt. The emotion that drains you, that makes you regret even the most necessary actions.

I am ready to eat out of the prince's hand as tamely as a dove. It's too easy. I'm hungry for kindness. Hungry for attention. I want and want and want.

Fear is not love, but it can appear much the same. So too, power.

I picture the High Queen as she was in that final battle, blood flecked across her face. Chopping off the head of the serpent who’d been her beloved, even if it doomed her side to failure, all to save a land that despised her. Now, that was hate that was somehow also hope.

Who calls at Habetrot's chamber?' comes a whispery voice. Oak raises his eyebrows at me, as though he intends me to answer. Fine, if that's what he wants. 'Suren, whose garb has been deemed inadequate by an obnoxious prince, despite the fact I've seen people go naked to revels.' Rather than be insulted, Oak laughs delightedly.

They taught you a lot of things, your family,' I say. The sleight of hand, the wall climbing, the swordsmanship. 'Not to die,' he says. 'That's what they attempted to teach me, anyway. Not to die.' Considering how often he throws himself directly into the path of danger, I do not think they taught him well enough.

There he lays. My beast. My enemy. My captor.

No one in chains could ever truly love you.' He glares. 'Do you expect me to believe you know anything about love?' The truth of that hits like a blow.

Love is the one thing you can’t steal. You can’t create it, either. It either exists or it doesn’t. And if it exists, you can’t take it by force.

I wonder what it would be like, to never have to be alone.

Do you know why I sent you away?” I ask her. “Yes,” she sobs. “Because you love me.” “That’s right,” I sigh.

Some broken things stay broken

You will not always be so small or so frightened,' she told me. 'You are a queen.

I couldn't stop being afraid of myself. Afraid of the monster I saw when I glimpsed my reflection in still pools, in windows... But all I am is magic. Unmagic. I am nothing. I am what is beyond nothing. Annihilation. I am the unraveler. I can pull apart magic with a thought.

I would speak with Oak for a moment,” Cardan says. “Alone.” Jude looks surprised but then shrugs. “I’ll be outside, yelling at people.” “Try not to enjoy it too greatly,” says Cardan as she goes out.

She's going to want to wear your skull for a hat,' Oak warns. There is an uncomfortable shifting among the ex-falcons. Perhaps they are recalling their own choice to denounce her, their own punishment. 'And Cardan is going to laugh and laugh when she does.

And that is why you ought not dramatically vow to obey someone,' I say, a growl in my voice. 'They seldom ask for what you hope they will.

Vow she won't be harmed,' Oak says, breathing hard. 'Also me. I would like not to be harmed as well.

I do not need a tongue for her to read the rage in my eyes.

You cannot outrun fate.

I am well-practiced at being unnoticed, especially here of all places.

Pain is better than being dead.

You ought to be on my side,' he says, looking hurt. 'I was poisoned.' 'That's another good reason for me to go in your place,' Tiernan puts in. 'Pragmatist,' says Oak, as though it's a dirty word.

Little queen,” Madoc says with a crooked smile. Despite not sharing blood with Oak, the mischief in his expression is familiar. “All grown up and come to devour your maker. I can’t say as I blame you.

The money,' I ask. 'Was it real?' 'Oh, yes,' the Prince confirms. 'My sister would be wroth with us otherwise.' 'Wroth.' I echo the archaic word, although I know what it means. Pissed off. 'Super wroth,' he says with a grin.

Oooooooh,' says Jack, correctly interpreting my silence for a confession. 'Is he your lover? Is this a ballad we're in?' 'A murder ballad maybe,' I growl. 'No doubt, by the end,' he says. 'I wonder who will survive to compose it.

If I fall, you must promise not to laugh. I may still be a little bit poisoned.' ... I wonder exactly how much a little bit means. 'Maybe I should be the one to go first.' 'Nonsense,' he says. 'If you weren't behind me, then who would break my fall?

Next time you'll remember not to drop your guard,' the knight says, observing the wounds on Oak's cheek. 'My vanity took the worst of the blow,' he says. 'Worried about your pretty face?' the knight asks. 'There is too little beauty in the world,' says the prince airily. 'But that is not my area of greatest conceit.

Would you consider actually marrying me?” She looks up at him, obviously surprised and a little suspicious. “Really?” He presses a kiss to her hair. “If you did, I would be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to prove the sincerity of my feelings.” “What’s that?” she asks, peering up at him. “Become a king of some place instead of running away from all royal responsibility.” She laughs. “You wouldn’t rather sit by my throne on a leash?” “That does seem easier,” he admits. “I would make an excellent consort.” “Then I’ll have to marry you, Prince Oak of the Greenbriar line,” Wren says, with a sharp-toothed smile. “Just to make you suffer.

I was a corpse when I met you, Nessa,” he says. “No breath. No heart. No life. I felt nothing. I cared about nothing. Then I saw you, and you woke me up inside. I was such a fool at first. I was so numb that I thought that spark must be hatred. If I was a normal person, I would have realized it was love. Love at first sight. From the second I laid eyes on you.

Someone tried to kill me. Again. Poison. Again. Someone else tried to recruit me into a scheme where we would kill my sister and Cardan, so I could rule in their place. When I told them no, they tried to kill me. With a knife, that time.' 'A poisoned knife?' He laughed. 'No, just a regular one. But it hurt.

When we return from the north,” he promises, hand to his heart in an exaggerated way that lets me know he considers this a silly vow rather than a solemn one, “they will wake to find their shoes filled with fine, fat rubies. They can use them to buy new leggings and another roast chicken.” “How will they sell rubies?” I ask him. “Why not leave them something more practical?” He rolls his eyes. “As a prince of Faerie, I flatly refuse to leave cash. It’s inelegant.” Tiernan shakes his head at both of us, then pokes at the foodstuffs, selecting a handful of nuts. “Gift cards are worse,” Oak says when I do not respond. “I would bring shame on the entire Greenbriar line if I left a gift card.” At that, I can’t help smiling a little, despite my heavy heart. “You’re ridiculous.

She’s a piece of music that gets stuck in your head, repeating over and over. The more you hear it, the more it lodges in your brain. Most people become predictable, the longer you watch them. Nessa Griffin is the opposite. I thought I knew exactly who she was—a sheltered little princess. A dancer living in a fantasy world. But she’s much cleverer than I gave her credit for. She’s creative, perceptive. And genuinely kind.

You want me to stay the heir while you two go off somewhere? And then I can step down, be de-princed, whatever?” “Exactly that,” says Cardan. “Like on a vacation?” Cardan snorts. “I don’t understand,” Oak says. “Where are you going?” “A diplomatic mission,” says Cardan, leaning back on the cushions. “After that last little rescue, Nicasia has demanded we honor our treaty, meet her suitors, and witness the contest for her hand and crown. And so Jude and I are headed to the Undersea, where we will go to a lot of parties and try very hard not to die.

What a freeing thought it was to no longer believe I had to deserve something in order to get it.' He's right; that would be a shockingly freeing thought. 'Stop waiting,' Madoc says. 'Sink those pretty teeth into something.' I give him a sharp look, trying to decide if he is making fun of me. I lean down and write in the dirt and the crust of my own dried blood. Monsters have teeth like mine. He grins as though I am finally getting his point. 'That they do.

I thought love was a fascination, or a desire to be around someone, or wanting to make them happy. I believed it just happened, like a slap to the face, and left the way the sting from such a blow fades. That’s why it was easy for me to believe it could be false or manipulated or influenced by magic. Until I met you, I didn’t understand to feel loved, one has to feel known. And that, outside of my family, I had never really loved because I hadn’t bothered to know the other person. But I know you. And you have to come back to me, Wren, because no one gets us but us. You know why you’re not a monster, but I might be. I know why throwing me in your dungeon meant there was still something between us. We are messes and we are messed up and I don’t want to go through this world without the one person I can’t hide from and who can’t hide from me.

The prince doesn't even know what you are,' she says with a glance toward Oak. 'Barely one of the Folk. Nothing but a manikin, little more than the stock left behind when a changeling is taken, a thing meant to wither and die.' Despite myself, my gaze goes to Oak. To see if he understands. But I cannot read anything but pity on his face. I might be only sticks and snow and hag magic, but at least I did not come from her. I am no one's child. That makes me smile, showing red teeth.

I vowed I would use the strategy I studied for my own benefit. I would find a way to take all that I wanted, for myself and for my family. What a freeing thought it was to no longer believe I had to deserve something in order to get it.” He’s right; that would be a shockingly freeing thought. “Stop waiting,” Madoc says. “Sink those pretty teeth into something.” I give him a sharp look, trying to decide if he is making fun of me. I lean down and write in the dirt and crust of my own dried blood: Monsters have teeth like mine. He grins as though I am finally getting his point. “That they do.” Oak turns away from the lock in frustration. “Father, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” “We were just talking, she and I,” Madoc says. “Don’t listen to him.” He shakes his head with an exasperated look at his father. “He’s full of bad old-guy advice.” “Just because I’m bad,” Madoc says with a grunt, “doesn’t mean the advice is.

The Pilgrim Queen (A Song) There sat a Lady all on the ground, Rays of the morning circled her round, Save thee, and hail to thee, Gracious and Fair, In the chill twilight what wouldst thou there? 'Here I sit desolate,' sweetly said she, 'Though I'm a queen, and my name is Marie: Robbers have rifled my garden and store, Foes they have stolen my heir from my bower. 'They said they could keep Him far better than I, In a palace all His, planted deep and raised high. 'Twas a palace of ice, hard and cold as were they, And when summer came, it all melted away. 'Next would they barter Him, Him the Supreme, For the spice of the desert, and gold of the stream; And me they bid wander in weeds and alone, In this green merry land which once was my own.' I look'd on that Lady, and out from her eyes Came the deep glowing blue of Italy's skies; And she raised up her head and she smiled, as a Queen On the day of her crowning, so bland and serene. 'A moment,' she said, 'and the dead shall revive; The giants are failing, the Saints are alive; I am coming to rescue my home and my reign, And Peter and Philip are close in my train.

Wren?' he says. 'Talk to me.' I don't reply. What would be the point? I know he will twist me around his finger with words. I know that if I give him half the chance, love-starved creature that I am, I will be under his spell again. With him, I am forever a night-blooming flower, attracted and repelled by the heat of the sun. 'Let me explain,' he calls to me. 'Let me atone.' I bite the tip of my tongue to keep myself from snapping at him. He meant to keep me ignorant. He tricked me. He lied with every smile. With every kiss. With the warmth in his eyes that should have been impossible to fake. I'd know what he was capable of. Over and over, he'd shown me. And over and over, I believed there would be no more tricks. No more secrets. Not anymore. 'You have good cause to be furious. But you couldn't have lied, had you known the truth. I was afraid you'd have to lie.' He waits, and when I say nothing, rolls into a sitting position. 'Wren?' I can see the leather straps running across his cheeks. If he wears the bridle long enough, he'll have scars. 'Talk to me!' he shouts, standing and coming to the bars. I see the gold of his hair, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the glint of his fox eyes. 'Wren! Wren!' Coward that I am, I flee. My heart thundering, my hands shaking. But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.

He also says you fall in love a lot.' That surprises a laugh out of him, although he doesn't deny any of it. 'There are certain expectations of a prince in Court.' 'You cannot be serious,' I say. 'You feel obliged to be in love?' 'I told you- I am a courtier, versed in all the courtly arts.' He's grinning as he says it, though, acknowledging the absurdity of the statement. I find myself shaking my head and grinning, too. He's being ridiculous, but I am not sure how ridiculous. 'I do have a bad habit, he says. 'Of falling in love. With great regularity and to spectacular effect. You see, it never goes well.' I wonder if this conversation makes him think of our kiss, but then, I was the one who kissed him. He'd only kissed back. 'As charming as you are, how can that be?' I say. He laughs again. 'That's what my sister Taryn always says. She tells me that I remind her of her late husband. Which makes some sense, since I would have been his half brother. But it's also alarming, because she's the one who murdered him.' Much as when he spoke about Madoc, it's strange how fond oak can sound when he tells me a horrifying thing a member of his family has done.

I put the withered leaf in my mouth first. Then I place the bone on the cut root where my tongue used to be, close my eyes, and concentrate. Immediately, I feel as though my chest is being squeezed, as though my ribs are cracking. Something is wrong. Something is wrong with me. I fall to my knees, palms pressed against the ice of the floor. Something seems to twist inside my chest, then split, like a fissure opening in a glacier. The hard knot of my magic, the part of me that has felt in danger of unravelling when I push myself too hard, splits completely apart. I gasp, because it hurts. It hurts so much my mouth opens on a scream I cannot make. It hurts so much that I black out. ... With astonishment, I realise my tongue is in my mouth. It feels odd to have it there. Thick and heavy. I cannot decide if it is swollen of if I am just oddly conscious of it. 'I'm scared,' I whisper to myself. Because it's true. Because I need to know if my tongue belongs to me and will say the things I mean it to. 'I'm so tired. I'm so tired of being scared.

I take the comb from a pocket of my new dress and then hesitate. If I begin to untangle my nimbus of snarls, he will see how badly my hair is matted and be reminded of where he found me. He stands. Good. He will leave, and then I will be able to wrangle my hair alone. But instead he steps behind me and takes the comb from my hands. 'Let me do that,' he says, taking strands of my hair in his fingers. 'It's the colour of primroses.' My shoulders tense. I am unused to people touching me. 'You don't need to-' I start. 'It's no trouble,' he says. 'I had three older sisters brushing and braiding mine, no matter how I howled. I had to learn to do theirs, in self-defence. And my mother...' His fingers are clever. He holds each lock at the base, slowly teasing out the knots at the very end and then working backward to the scalp. Under his hands, it becomes smooth ribbons. If I had done this, I would have yanked half of it out in frustration. 'Your mother...,' I echo, prompting him to continue in a voice that shakes only a little. He begins to braid, sweeping my hair up so that thick plaits become something like his circlet, wrapping around my head. 'When we were in the mortal world, away from her servants, she needed help arranging it.' His voice is soft. This, along with the slightly painful pull against my scalp, the brush of his fingertips against my neck as he separates a section, the slight frown of concentration on his face, is overwhelming. I am not accustomed to someone being this close. When I look up, his smile is all invitation. We are no longer children, playing games and hiding beneath his bed, but I feel as though this is a different kind of game, one where I do not understand the rules. With a shiver, I take up the mirror from the dresser. In this hair, and with this dress, I look pretty. The kind of pretty that allows monsters to deceive people into forests, into dances where they will find their doom.

Oak puts his hands on my shoulders, pushing my back to the wall. 'Pretend with me,' he whispers. And then he presses his mouth to mine. A soldier kissing one of the serving girls. A bored ex-falcon attempting to amuse himself. Oak hiding our faces, giving us a reason to be overlooked. I understand the game. This is no declaration of desire. And yet, I am rooted in place by the shocking heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the way one of his hands goes to the ice wall to brace himself and the other to my waist, and then to the hilt of my knife as they draw closer. He doesn't want me. This doesn't mean he wants me. I repeat that over and over as I let him part my lips with his tongue. I run my hands up his back under his shirt, letting my nails trail over his skin. I have been trained in all the arts of a courtier. Dancing and duelling, kissing and deceiving. Still, I am gratified when he shudders, when the hand he was bracing with lifts to thread through my hair, to cup my head. My mouth slides over his jaw to his throat, then against his shoulder, where I press the points of my teeth. His body stiffens, his fingers gripping me harder, pulling me closer to him. When I bite down, he gasps.

When it is time to sleep, Tiernan and Oak wrap themselves in bearskins. Oak drapes one over my shoulders. I say nothing to indicate that I don't need it, that I am never too cold. When we lie down by the fire, he watches me. The light dances in his eyes. 'Come here,' he says, beckoning with a hand. I am not sure I know the me who moves, who shifts so that I am resting my head against his shoulder. The me who feels his breath against my hair and the pressure of his splayed fingers at the small of my back. His feet tangle with mine, my toes brushing against the fur just above his hooves. My fingers are resting against his stomach, and I cannot help feeling the hard planes of him, the muscles and the scars. When I move my hand, his breath catches. We both go still. Tiernan, close to the fire, turns in his sleep. In the firelight, the prince's amber eyes are molten gold. I am aware of my skin in a way I have never been before, of the slight movements of my limbs, of the rise and fall of my chest. I can hear the beat of his heart against my cheek. I feel as though I am shouting kiss me with every restless shift of my body. But he does not, and I am too much of a coward to do more than lie there and yearn until my eyes drift closed at last.

Oak puts a hand on my arm. I startle. 'You all right?' he asks. 'When they first took me from the mortal world to the Court of Teeth, Lord Jarel and Lady Nore tried to be nice to me. They gave me good things to eat and dressed me in fancy dresses and told me that I was their princess and would be a beautiful and beloved queen,' I tell him, the words slipping from my lips before I can call them back. I occupy myself with searching deeper in the closet so I don't have to see his face as I speak. 'I cried constantly, ceaselessly. For a week, I wept and wept until they could bear it no more.' Oak is silent. Though he knew me as a child, he never knew me as that child, the one who still believed the world could be kind. But then, he had sisters who were stolen. Perhaps they had cried, too. 'Lord Jarel and Lady Nore told their servants to enchant me to sleep, and the servants did. But it never lasted. I kept weeping.' He nods, just a little, as though more movement might break the spell of my speaking. 'Lord Jarel came to me with a beautiful glass dish in which there was flavoured ice,' I tell him. 'When I took a bite, the flavour was indescribably delicious. It was as though I were eating dreams.' 'You will have this every day if you cease you're crying,' he said. 'But I couldn't stop. 'Then he came to me with a necklace of diamonds, as cold and beautiful as ice. When I put it on, my eyes shone, my hair sparkled, and my skin shimmered as though glitter had been poured over it. I looked wondrously beautiful. But when he told me to stop crying, I couldn't. 'Then he became angry, and he told me that if I didn't stop, he would turn my tears to glass that would cut my cheeks. And that's what he did. 'But I cried until it was hard to tell the difference between tears and blood. And after that, I began to teach myself how to break their curses. They didn't like that. 'And so they told me I would be able to see the humans again- that's what they called them, the humans- in a year, for a visit, but only if I was good. 'I tried. I choked back tears. And on the wall beside my bed, I scratched the number of days in the ice. 'One night I returned to my room to find the scratches weren't the way I remembered. I was sure it had been five months, but the scratches made it seem as though it had been only a little more than three. 'And that was when I realised I was never going home, but by then the tears wouldn't come, no matter how much I willed them. And I never cried again.' His eyes shone with horror.

The Three-Decker "The three-volume novel is extinct." Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail. It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail; But, spite all modern notions, I found her first and best— The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest. Fair held the breeze behind us—’twas warm with lovers’ prayers. We’d stolen wills for ballast and a crew of missing heirs. They shipped as Able Bastards till the Wicked Nurse confessed, And they worked the old three-decker to the Islands of the Blest. By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of Cook, Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berths we took With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed, And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest. We asked no social questions—we pumped no hidden shame— We never talked obstetrics when the Little Stranger came: We left the Lord in Heaven, we left the fiends in Hell. We weren’t exactly Yussufs, but—Zuleika didn’t tell. No moral doubt assailed us, so when the port we neared, The villain had his flogging at the gangway, and we cheered. ’Twas fiddle in the forc’s’le—’twas garlands on the mast, For every one got married, and I went ashore at last. I left ’em all in couples a-kissing on the decks. I left the lovers loving and the parents signing cheques. In endless English comfort by county-folk caressed, I left the old three-decker at the Islands of the Blest! That route is barred to steamers: you’ll never lift again Our purple-painted headlands or the lordly keeps of Spain. They’re just beyond your skyline, howe’er so far you cruise In a ram-you-damn-you liner with a brace of bucking screws. Swing round your aching search-light—’twill show no haven’s peace. Ay, blow your shrieking sirens to the deaf, gray-bearded seas! Boom out the dripping oil-bags to skin the deep’s unrest— And you aren’t one knot the nearer to the Islands of the Blest! But when you’re threshing, crippled, with broken bridge and rail, At a drogue of dead convictions to hold you head to gale, Calm as the Flying Dutchman, from truck to taffrail dressed, You’ll see the old three-decker for the Islands of the Blest. You’ll see her tiering canvas in sheeted silver spread; You’ll hear the long-drawn thunder ’neath her leaping figure-head; While far, so far above you, her tall poop-lanterns shine Unvexed by wind or weather like the candles round a shrine! Hull down—hull down and under—she dwindles to a speck, With noise of pleasant music and dancing on her deck. All’s well—all’s well aboard her—she’s left you far behind, With a scent of old-world roses through the fog that ties you blind. Her crew are babes or madmen? Her port is all to make? You’re manned by Truth and Science, and you steam for steaming’s sake? Well, tinker up your engines—you know your business best— She’s taking tired people to the Islands of the Blest!

I do have a bad habit,” he says. “of falling in love. With regularity and to spectacular effect. You see, it never goes well.” I wonder if this conversation makes him think of our kiss, but then, I was the one who kissed him. He’d only kissed back. “As charming as you are, how can that be?” I say. He laughs again. “That’s what my sister Taryn always says. She tells me that I remind her of her late husband. Which makes some sense, since I would be his half brother. But it’s also alarming, because she’s the one who murdered him.” Much as when he spoke about Madoc, it’s strange how fond Oak can sound when he tells me a horrifying thing a member of his family has done. “Whom have you fallen in love with?” I ask. “Well, there was you,” the prince says. “When we were children.” “Me?” I ask incredulously. “You didn’t know?” He appears to be merry in the face of my astonishment. “Oh yes. Though you were a year my senior, and it was hopeless, I absolutely mooned over you. When you were gone from Court, I refused any food but tea and toast for a month.” I cannot help snorting over the sheer absurdity of his statement. He puts a hand to my heart. “Ah, and now you laugh. It is my curse to adore cruel women. He cannot expect me to believe he had real feelings. “Stop with your games.” “Very well,” he says. “Shall we go to the next? Her name was Lara, a mortal at the school I attended when I lived with my eldest sister and her girlfriend. Sometimes Lara and I would climb into the crook of one of the maple trees and share sandwiches. But she had a villainous friend, who implicated me in a piece of gossip—which resulted in Lara stabbing me with a lead pencil and breaking off our relationship.” “You do like cruel women,” I say. “Then there was Violet, a pixie. I wrote terrible poetry about how I adored her. Unfortunately, she adored duels and would get into trouble so that I would have to fight for her honor. And even more unfortunately, neither my sister nor my father bothered to teach me how to fight for show. I thought of the dead-eyed expression on his face before his bout with the ogre and Tiernan’s angry words. “That resulted in my accidentally killing a person she liked better than me.” “Oh,” I say. “That is three levels of unfortunate.” “Then there was Sibi, who wanted to run away from Court with me, but as soon as we went, hated it and wept until I took her home. And Loana, a mermaid, who found my lack of a tail unbearable but tried to drown me anyway, because she found it equally unbearable that I would ever love another.” The way he tells these stories makes me recall how he’s told me many painful things before. Some people laugh in the face of death. He laughed in the face of despair. “How old were you?” “Fifteen, with the mermaid,” he said. “And nearly three years later, I must surely be wiser.” “Surely,” I say, wondering if he was. Wondering if I wanted him to be.

There was a note on the table.” “Bring it here,” Van Eck barked. The boy strode down the aisle, and Van Eck snatched the note from his hand. “What does it … what does it say?” asked Bajan. His voice was tremulous. Maybe Inej had been right about Alys and the music teacher. Van Eck backhanded him. “If I find out you knew anything about this—” “I didn’t!” Bajan cried. “I knew nothing. I followed your orders to the letter!” Van Eck crumpled the note in his fist, but not before Inej made out the words in Kaz’s jagged, unmistakable hand: Noon tomorrow. Goedmedbridge. With her knives. “The note was weighted down with this.” The boy reached into his pocket and drew out a tie pin—a fat ruby surrounded by golden laurel leaves. Kaz had stolen it from Van Eck back when they’d first been hired for the Ice Court job. Inej hadn’t had the chance to fence it before they left Ketterdam. Somehow Kaz must have gotten hold of it again. “Brekker,” Van Eck snarled, his voice taut with rage. Inej couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. Van Eck slapped her hard. He grabbed her tunic and shook her so that her bones rattled. “Brekker thinks we’re still playing a game, does he? She is my wife. She carries my heir.” Inej laughed even harder, all the horrors of the past week rising from her chest in giddy peals. She wasn’t sure she could have stopped if she wanted to. “And you were foolish enough to tell Kaz all of that on Vellgeluk.” “Shall I have Franke fetch the mallet and show you just how serious I am?” “Mister Van Eck,” Bajan pleaded. But Inej was done being frightened of this man. Before Van Eck could take another breath, she slammed her forehead upward, shattering his nose. He screamed and released her as blood gushed over his fine mercher suit. Instantly, his guards were on her, pulling her back. “You little wretch,” Van Eck said, holding a monogrammed handkerchief to his face. “You little whore. I’ll take a hammer to both your legs myself—” “Go on, Van Eck, threaten me. Tell me all the little things I am. You lay a finger on me and Kaz Brekker will cut the baby from your pretty wife’s stomach and hang its body from a balcony at the Exchange.” Ugly words, speech that pricked her conscience, but Van Eck deserved the images she’d planted in his mind. Though she didn’t believe Kaz would do such a thing, she felt grateful for each nasty, vicious thing Dirtyhands had done to earn his reputation—a reputation that would haunt Van Eck every second until his wife was returned. “Be silent,” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “You think he won’t?” Inej taunted. She could feel the heat in her cheek from where his hand had struck her, could see the mallet still resting in the guard’s hand. Van Eck had given her fear and she was happy to return it to him. “Vile, ruthless, amoral. Isn’t that why you hired Kaz in the first place? Because he does the things that no one else dares? Go on, Van Eck. Break my legs and see what happens. Dare him.” Had she really believed a merch could outthink Kaz Brekker? Kaz would get her free and then they’d show this man exactly what whores and canal rats could do. “Console yourself,” she said as Van Eck clutched the ragged corner of the table for support. “Even better men can be bested.