Sworn Sister Quotes

Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.” Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?” Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, "Regardless, he’s staying for tea.” “Wonderful,” Amelia said equably. “Why are you enemies, dear?” “I met him yesterday while I was out walking,” Beatrix explained. “And he called Medusa a ‘garden pest,’ and faulted me for bringing her to a picnic.” Amelia smiled at Christopher. “Medusa has been called many worse things around here, including ‘diseased pincushion,’ and ‘perambulating cactus.

What is a Gallagher Girl?” Liz asked. She looked nervously down at the papers in her hand even though I knew for a fact she had memorized every word. “When I was eleven I thought I knew the answer to that question. That was when the recruiters came to see me. They showed me brochures and told me they were impressed by my test scores and asked if I was ready to be challenged. And I said yes. Because that was what a Gallagher Girl was to me then, a student at the toughest school in the world.” She took a deep breath and talked on. “What is a Gallagher Girl?” Liz asked again. “When I was thirteen I thought I knew the answer to that question. That was when Dr. Fibs allowed me to start doing my own experiments in the lab. I could go anywhere—make anything. Do anything my mind could dream up. Because I was a Gallagher Girl. And, to me, that meant I was the future.” Liz took another deep breath. “What is a Gallagher Girl?” This time, when Liz asked it, her voice cracked. “When I was seventeen I stood on a dark street in Washington, D.C., and watched one Gallagher Girl literally jump in front of a bullet to save the life of another. I saw a group of women gather around a girl whom they had never met, telling the world that if any harm was to come to their sister, it had to go through them first.” Liz straightened. She no longer had to look down at her paper as she said, “What is a Gallagher Girl? I’m eighteen now, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t really know the answer to that question. Maybe she is destined to be our first international graduate and take her rightful place among Her Majesty’s Secret Service with MI6.” I glanced to my right and, call me crazy, but I could have sworn Rebecca Baxter was crying. “Maybe she is someone who chooses to give back, to serve her life protecting others just as someone once protected her.” Macey smirked but didn’t cry. I got the feeling that Macey McHenry might never cry again. “Who knows?” Liz asked. “Maybe she’s an undercover journalist.” I glanced at Tina Walters. “An FBI agent.” Eva Alvarez beamed. “A code breaker.” Kim Lee smiled. “A queen.” I thought of little Amirah and knew somehow that she’d be okay. “Maybe she’s even a college student.” Liz looked right at me. “Or maybe she’s so much more.” Then Liz went quiet for a moment. She too looked up at the place where the mansion used to stand. “You know, there was a time when I thought that the Gallagher Academy was made of stone and wood, Grand Halls and high-tech labs. When I thought it was bulletproof, hack-proof, and…yes…fireproof. And I stand before you today happy for the reminder that none of those things are true. Yes, I really am. Because I know now that a Gallagher Girl is not someone who draws her power from that building. I know now with scientific certainty that it is the other way around.” A hushed awe descended over the already quiet crowd as she said this. Maybe it was the gravity of her words and what they meant, but for me personally, I like to think it was Gilly looking down, smiling at us all. “What is a Gallagher Girl?” Liz asked one final time. “She’s a genius, a scientist, a heroine, a spy. And now we are at the end of our time at school, and the one thing I know for certain is this: A Gallagher Girl is whatever she wants to be.” Thunderous, raucous applause filled the student section. Liz smiled and wiped her eyes. She leaned close to the microphone. “And, most of all, she is my sister.

I want to scream. My friend doesn’t mumble. She doesn’t walk with her head down. She doesn’t quietly accept that her education will be left in the hands of boys fresh from university. “Ilven?” I want to remind her that she is a person who kicks off her shoes and stockings to run across the green fields behind our estates, that she once helped me play pranks on my idiot of a brother, that we are sister-friends, that we have kissed and sworn eternal friendship.

A memory from before: his sister arriving home from school with her new jump rope trailing behind her on the sidewalk. "They let me turn the handle," she said, "but they wouldn't let me jump." She had cut the rope up into tiny pieces and tossed them into the ivy and sworn she would never jump rope again.

The first law of the land shall be the King’s Peace,” King Aegon decreed, “and any lord who goes to war without my leave shall be considered a rebel and an enemy of the Iron Throne.” King Aegon also issued decrees regularizing customs, duties, and taxes throughout the realm, whereas previously every port and every petty lord had been free to exact however much they could from tenants, smallfolk, and merchants. He also proclaimed that the holy men and women of the Faith, and all their lands and possessions, were to be exempt from taxation, and affirmed the right of the Faith’s own courts to try and sentence any septon, Sworn Brother, or holy sister accused of malfeasance.

White symbolizes treachery, a sinister nature, suspicion of others, and the willingness to visit evil deeds upon them. But red symbolizes honor. Loyalty. Heroism. This is the face that we show our sworn brothers and sisters. The red is the trust that we have for each other, buried in the field of white but always showing through in our gaze.

Tell me of your family,” Prince Merrick continued. “Um…yes, sir. It is just my mother and my sisters Emily and Elizabeth. As you know, we lost my father.” “I am sorry for your loss,” the prince said, not for the first time. “And you take care of them?” he prompted before pulling the carrot from a stunned Cassius and feeding it to the horse. “Yes, I am all they have, but I want to care for them. They’re my family. I love them. My sisters…especially Emily, she is my heart.” Their eyes caught again, and Cassius could have sworn he saw a grin in the prince’s stare. “We have that in common too, then. My family is everything to me, and I love my sister more than anything.” “I can see that, Your Highness, in the way you spoke with her today

Ready for what?” Just then, Jonah came bouncing over, wearing a blue-and-red dinosaur costume. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” he yelled louder than necessary. My mom put her hand on his shoulder and he stopped bouncing. She continued to look at me, waiting for an answer. “I’m going out with Isabel,” I said. “You didn’t tell me that,” Mom said. I panicked, my mind rewinding through the week to try to pick out the conversation I could’ve sworn I had with my mom so I could reference it now. It didn’t exist. “You said you’d take us trick-or-treating,” Jonah whined. “Ashley can take you,” I said. My sister shook her head. “Nope. I’m going to a Halloween party tonight.” “Can’t Mom take you?” I asked Jonah, desperate now because I knew how he got when he had his mind set on something. Mom gave me her disappointed look but to Jonah said, “Yes, I’ll take you.” The dinosaur head tipped forward as he looked at the ground in a pout. It was a really pathetic sight. As I clung to my stained shirt, I knew neither

Rhys lunged against his hold, but Amren stepped to their side and hissed, 'Listen.' Nesta whispered, 'I give it all back.' Her shoulders heaved as she wept. Rhys began shaking his head, his power a palpable, rising wave that would destroy them all, destroy the world if it meant Feyre was no longer in it, even if he only had seconds to live beyond her, but Amren grabbed the nape of his neck. Her red nails dug into his golden skin. 'Look at the light.' Iridescent light began flowing from Nesta's body. Into Feyre. Nesta kept holding her sister. 'I give it back. I give it back. I give it back.' Even Rhys stopped fighting. No one moved. The lights glimmered down Feyre's arm. Her legs. It suffused her ashen face. Began to fill the room. Cassian's Siphons guttered, as if sensing a power far beyond his own, beyond any of theirs. Tendrils of light drifted between the sisters. And one, delicate and loving, flowed towards Mor. To the bundle in her arms, setting the silent babe within glowing bright as the sun. And Nesta kept whispering, 'I give it back. I give it all back.' The iridescence filled her, filled Feyre, filled the bundle in Mor's arms, lighting his friend's face so the shock on it was etched in stark relief. 'I give it back,' Nesta said, one more time, and Mask and Crown tumbled from her head. The light exploded, blinding and warm, a wind sweeping past them, as if gathering every shard of itself out of the room. Ans as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta's back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore. A bargain. With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. Cassian didn't fight Rhys this time as he raced to the bed. To where Feyre lay, flush with colour. No more blood spilling between her legs. Feyre opened her eyes. She blinked at Rhys, and then turned to Nesta. 'I love you, too,' Feyre whispered to her sister, and smiled. Nesta didn't stop her sob as she launched herself onto Feyre and embraced her.

I thought you'd sworn off marriage," Ranulf growled. "Who said anything about marriage?" Tyr snapped back. "I just know that when a younger sister gets married,the older one might like some company and Bronwyn is one damn fine-looking woman." "Leave her alone, Tyr." The possessive growl in Ranulf's voice was unmistakable and undeniable. Tyr swung around abruptly and faced his friend from across the table. "I knew it!" "Just what do you think you know?" "Something happened between you two," Tyr answered,pointing at him. "No man-not even you-can spend a day and night with a woman that beautiful and not at least try to kiss her. Did you?" "None of your business." Tyr let go a long low whistle. "So not only did you,but you enjoyed it.Enough to still be bothered.I'm kind of wishing it had been me up there instead." Ranulf moved toward the door. "I think your first inclinations about leaving Hunswick were good ones.Tell the queen I said hello." Tyr shook his head and leaned back against the table,crossing his arms. "I've changed my mind. Ranulf de Gunnar, the man who wanted no woman, suddenly has two.I'm staying." "Not if I send you away.

She met her father in the living room. “I'm begging you not to kill him.” Her father scowled at her. “This man is our sworn enemy. He has-” “I know who he is and I know what he's done. I also know he is Gianni's father, and in our hearts, he is Will's father. Will loves him.” “And you,” Jack snorted. She glared at her uncle. “This is not about me.” He was silent, but his disbelief was there in his eyes. Bree turned back to her father. “He did what he did on the order of his father. Even though I despise Bernardo, we all know that family is everything. It doesn't make it forgivable, but it does make it understandable. I'm begging you for Will's sake. Don't make him lose another father.” “She could be pregnant with his child,” Beth said softly, coming out of the kitchen. Bree gave a start. They hadn't been trying to conceive but it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility. She grabbed on to the lie. “I am.” Her father's mouth fell open and her uncle swore. She met her sister's gaze in gratitude. “That's right. I found out in Ireland that, yes, I'm pregnant again.” Beth gave her a tiny nod, acknowledging the lie. “Son of a…” Her father clenched his fists. “Don't leave this baby without a father, Daddy. Please.” John looked from her to her sister. “Untie the son of bitch and toss him on the street.

So much for Caligula as emperor; we must now tell of his career as a monster.... He lived in habitual incest with all his sisters, and at a large banquet he placed each of them in turn below him, while his wife reclined above. Many men of honourable rank were first disfigured with the marks of branding-irons and then condemned to the mines, to work at building roads, or to be thrown to the wild beasts; or else he shut them up in cages on all fours, like animals, or had them sawn asunder. Not all these punishments were for serious offences, but merely for criticising one of his shows, or for never having sworn by his genius. Having asked a man who had been recalled from an exile of long standing, how in the world he spent his time there, the man replied by way of flattery: "I constantly prayed the gods for what has come to pass, that Tiberius might die and you become emperor." Thereupon Caligula, thinking that his exiles were likewise praying for his death, sent emissaries from island to island to butcher them all. Wishing to have one of the senators torn to pieces, he induced some of the members to assail him suddenly, on his entrance into the House, with the charge of being a public enemy, to stab him with their styles, and turn him over to the rest to be mangled; and his cruelty was not sated until he saw the man's limbs, members, and bowels dragged through the streets and heaped up before him. He used to say that there was nothing in his own character which he admired and approved more highly than what he called his ἀδιατρεψία, that is to say, his shameless impudence. He seldom had anyone put to death except by numerous slight wounds, his constant order, which soon became well-known, being: "Strike so that he may feel that he is dying." When a different man than he had intended had been killed, through a mistake in the names, he said that the victim too had deserved the same fate. He even used openly to deplore the state of his times, because they had been marked by no public disasters, saying that the rule of Augustus had been made famous by the Varus massacre, and that of Tiberius by the collapse of the amphitheatre at Fidenae,​ while his own was threatened with oblivion because of its prosperity; and every now and then he wished for the destruction of his armies, for famine, pestilence, fires, or a great earthquake. While he was lunching or revelling capital examinations by torture were often made in his presence, and a soldier who was adept at decapitation cut off the heads of those who were brought from prison. At a public banquet in Rome he immediately handed a slave over to the executioners for stealing a strip of silver from the couches, with orders that his hands be cut off and hung from his neck upon his breast, and that he then be led about among the guests.

I would never say it- never let her hear that, even if she killed me. And if it was to be my downfall, so be it. If it would be the weakness that would break me, I would embrace it with all my heart. If this was- For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow, When I kill, I do it slow... That's what these three months had been- a slow, horrible death. What I felt for Tamlin was the cause of this. There was no cure- not pain, or absence, or happiness. But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat. She could torture me all she liked, but it would never destroy what I felt for him. It would never make Tamlin want her- never ease the sting of his rejection. The world became dark at the borders of my vision, taking the edge off the pain. But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare. For so long, I had run from it. But opening myself to him, to my sisters- that had been a test of bravery as harrowing as any of my trials. 'Say it, you vile beast!' Amarantha hissed. She might have lied her way out of our bargain, but she'd sworn differently with the riddle- instantaneous freedom, regardless of her will. Blood filled my mouth, warm as it dribbled out between my lips. I gazed at Tamlin's masked face one last time. 'Love,' I breathed, the word crumbling into a blackness with no end. A pause in Amarantha's magic. 'The answer to the riddle....' I got out, choking on my own blood, 'is... love.' Tamlin's eyes went wide before something forever cracked in my spine.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn's coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze. 'Who are you?' He knew without demanding clarification that she was aware of what he was to her. 'I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.' And a whole lot of nothing. ... For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. 'Lucien,' she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. 'From my sister's stories. Her friend.' 'Yes.' But Elain blinked slowly. 'You were in Hybern.' 'Yes.' It was all he could say. 'You betrayed us.' He wished she'd shoved him out the window behind her. 'It- it was a mistake.' Her eyes were frank and cold. 'I was to be married in a few days.' He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who'd claimed her and shred him apart. The words were a rasp as he instead said, 'I know. I'm sorry.' She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male's bride. A mortal man's wife. Or she would have been. She looked away- toward the windows. 'I can hear your heart,' she said quietly. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth. 'When I sleep,' she murmured, 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. 'Can you hear mine?' He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, 'No, lady. I cannot.' Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. 'No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really.' A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. 'He did. He saw me. He will not now.

So Christiana went to speak to Dicky about taking us out and about, but when she found him in the office, the idiot was dead." Daniel bit his lip at her vexed tone. There was absolutely no grief in her voice at all, just irritation with the inconvenience of it all. But then George had never been one to inspire the finer feelings in those he encountered. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Did he fall and strike his head, or-" "No.He was simply sitting in his chair dead," she said with exasperation, and then added with disgust, "He was obviously a victim of his own excess. We suspected his heart gave out. Certainly the glass and decanter of whiskey next to him suggested he didn't take the best care of himself. I ask you,who drinks hard liquor first thing in the morning?" Daniel shook his head, finding it difficult to speak. She was just so annoyed as she spoke of the man's death, as if he'd deliberately done it to mess up her plans. After a moment, he asked, "Are you sure he is dead?" Suzette gave him another one of those adorable "Don't be ridiculous" looks. "Well, obviously he isn't. He is here now," she pointed out, and then shook her head and added almost under her breath, "Though I could have sworn...The man didn't even stir when he fell off the chair and slammed his head on the floor. Nor when I dropped him and his head crashed to the hardwood floor again, or when we rolled him in the carpet and dragged him upstairs, or when we dropped him in the hall and he rolled out of the carpet, or-" "Er," Daniel interrupted, and then coughed into his hand to hide a laugh, before asking, "Why exactly were you carting him about in a carpet?" "Well,don't be dense," she said with exasperation. "We couldn't let anyone know he was dead, could we?" "Couldn't you?" he asked uncertainly. Suzette clucked with irritation. "Of course not.We would have had to go into mourning then.How would I find a husband if we were forced to abstain from polite society to observe mourning?

If you’re wise, you’ll keep your mouth shut and your ears open. It’ll do you more good here than a loose tongue. And keep your wits about you—even your senses will try to betray you here" "That was why the leather baldric bore no weapons: why use them when you were a weapon yourself? " " If you go poking about the grounds, keep your wits about you.”" "Because when you look at it—when you acknowledge it—that’s when it becomes real. That’s when it can kill you" "But with your affinity for eavesdropping, maybe you’ll someday learn something valuable." "I would never say it—never let her hear that, even if she killed me. And if it was to be my downfall, so be it. If it would be the weakness that would break me, I would embrace it with all my heart. If this was— For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow, When I kill, I do it slow … That’s what these three months had been—a slow, horrible death. What I felt for Tamlin was the cause of this. There was no cure—not pain, or absence, or happiness. But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat. She could torture me all she liked, but it would never destroy what I felt for him. It would never make Tamlin want her—never ease the sting of his rejection. The world became dark at the borders of my vision, taking the edge off the pain. But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare. For so long, I had run from it. But opening myself to him, to my sisters—that had been a test of bravery as harrowing as any of my trials. “Say it, you vile beast,” Amarantha hissed. She might have lied her way out of our bargain, but she’d sworn differently with the riddle—instantaneous freedom, regardless of her will. Blood filled my mouth, warm as it dribbled out between my lips. I gazed at Tamlin’s masked face one last time. “Love,” I breathed, the world crumbling into a blackness with no end. A pause in Amarantha’s magic. “The answer to the riddle …,” I got out, choking on my own blood, “is … love.” Tamlin’s eyes went wide before something forever cracked in my spine.

Sandesh’s older sister had sworn to kill him if he touched this album,

This essential difference had always been between them. Vianne the rule follower and Isabelle the rebel. Even in girlhood, in grief, they had expressed their emotions differently. Vianne had gone silent after Maman’s death, tried to pretend that Papa’s abandonment didn’t wound her, while Isabelle had thrown tantrums and run away and demanded attention. Maman had sworn that one day they would be the best of friends. Never had this prediction seemed less likely. In this, right now, Isabelle was right. Vianne would be constantly afraid of what her sister would say or do around the captain, and truthfully, Vianne hadn’t the strength for it.

The greatest power over a man is his desire to please a particular woman. This is crucial to understand. So much in this life hangs on it. It is this inherent desire which gives that woman power to make or destroy him. Most men will never confess that they are influenced…easily influenced…by the women they prefer. Wives, lovers, mothers, daughters, or sisters. Many have no idea that they are. This knowledge is the source of the hetaera’s power. It is powerful, child. So subtle and powerful. It can and does influence men to murder. It causes men to forsake their sworn oaths and duties. Even mastons. These feelings can shatter mountains into broken pebbles. They can break down the strongest man. Remember this teaching. It will benefit you in the future as you ponder it.

When they joined the company at supper, Mrs. Helmsby recognised, in a comfortable, portly, well-dressed woman, an old school-fellow, with whom she had once sworn everlasting friendship, which, however, had not survived the wear and tear of the first twelve months after leaving school. Circumstances separated them, and absence had almost made them forget each other,

Good afternoon,” came a pleasant feminine voice. It was the oldest Hathaway sister, Amelia. She was shorter and more voluptuous than her younger sister. There was a warm maternal air about her, as if she were prepared to ladle out sympathy and comfort at a moment’s notice. “Mrs. Rohan,” Christopher murmured, and bowed. “Sir,” she replied with a questioning lilt. Although they had met before, she clearly didn’t recognize him. “This is Captain Phelan, Amelia,” Beatrix said. The blue eyes widened. “What a lovely surprise,” she exclaimed, giving Christopher her hand. “Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.” Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?” Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, “Regardless, he’s staying for tea.” “Wonderful,” Amelia said equably. “Why are you enemies, dear?” “I met him yesterday while I was out walking,” Beatrix explained. “And he called Medusa a ‘garden pest,’ and faulted me for bringing her to a picnic.” Amelia smiled at Christopher. “Medusa has been called many worse things around here, including ‘diseased pincushion,’ and ‘perambulating cactus.’” “I’ve never understood,” Beatrix said, “why people have such unreasonable dislike of hedgehogs.” “They dig up the garden,” Amelia said, “and they’re not what one would call cuddlesome. Captain Phelan has a point, dear--you might have brought your cat to the picnic instead.” “Don’t be silly. Cats don’t like picnics nearly as much as hedgehogs.” The conversation proceeded at such quicksilver speed that there was little opportunity for Christopher to break in. Somehow he managed to find an opening. “I apologized to Miss Hathaway for my remarks,” he told Amelia uncomfortably. This earned an approving glance. “Delightful. A man who’s not afraid to apologize. But really, apologies are wasted on our family--we’re usually pleased by the things we should be offended by, and vice versa.

Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.” Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?” Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, “Regardless, he’s staying for tea.” “Wonderful,” Amelia said equably.

Thalestris stepped forward to join my sister, her deep voice ringing out with the words that we, as initiates, were compelled to echo back. “Uri . . . vinciri . . . verberari . . . ferroque necari.” I will endure to be burned . . . to be bound . . . to be beaten . . . and to be killed by the sword. It was the sacred gladiatorial oath, sworn by men and women alike when they joined the ranks—willingly or no—of the gladiatoria. “I don’t really care to endure any of that,” Elka muttered, “given a choice.” But there was no choice. That was the whole point. “Simple words. Simple promises,” Sorcha said as Thalestris’s voice echoed to silence. “This oath is the oath we all swear. Not to a god, or a master, or even to the Ludus Achillea . . . but to our sisters who stand here with us. Our sisters. This is the oath that binds us all, one to one, all to all, so that we are no longer free. We belong to each other. We are bound to each other. In swearing to each other, we free ourselves from the outside world, from the world of men, from those who would seek to bind us to Fate and that which would make us slaves. We sacrifice our liberty so that, ultimately, we can be truly free.

about

woman like you?” Despite her relation to his sworn enemy, Beck couldn’t deny the fact that the girl he’d met in college was all grown up and one hell of a knockout. “You’re sweet.” She sniffed and he was afraid he’d triggered a crying jag, but she forced a smile instead. “He found someone who completes him,” she said, using quotation marks with her fingers. “And he hopes I find the love and excitement he has.” She finished with more finger quotes. She sniffed again. “But the bastard did it by text. And I’m celebrating because everything is paid for, and I think just maybe he did me a favor. Even if I sometimes want to cry.” She fluttered her thick black lashes, and Beck was afraid she’d do just that. He didn’t know what to make of Chloe or what to do with her. On the one hand, he wanted to beat the crap out of the man who’d hurt her. On the other, he needed to remember she was Linc’s sister and he ought to stay far away. “Anyway.” Chloe interrupted his

Tamlin bristled, hackles rising. “You’re exactly as nasty as your sister said you were.” Nesta laughed. “I’d hate to disappoint.” She held his emerald stare, knowing silver flames flickered in her own. “I went into the Cauldron because of you,” she said softly, and could have sworn thunder grumbled in the distance. Cassian and Eris faded away into nothing. There was only Tamlin, only this beast, and what he had done to her and her family. “Elain went into the Cauldron because of you,” Nesta went on. Her fingertips heated, and she knew if she looked down, she’d find silver embers flaring there. “I don’t care how much you apologize or try to atone for it or claim you didn’t know the King of Hybern would do such a thing or that you begged him not to do it. You colluded with him. Because you thought Feyre was your property.” Nesta pointed at Tamlin. The ground shook. Cassian swore behind her. Tamlin shrank from her outstretched finger, claws digging into the earth. “Put that finger down, you witch.” Nesta smiled. “I’m glad you remember what happened to the last person I pointed at.” She lowered her arm. “We’re going now.” She stepped back to where Cassian was already waiting, arms open. He wrapped them around her waist. Nesta glanced to Eris, who gave her a shallow, approving nod, then vanished. Nesta said to Tamlin before they shot into the skies, “Tell anyone you saw us, High Lord, and I’ll rip your head from your body, too.

Every time I looked toward a horizon of wondered if I should just walk and walk and never look back, I'd hear the promise I made eleven years ago as she wasted away on her deathbed. Stay together, and look after them. I'd agreed, too young to ask why she hadn't begged my elder sisters, or my father.

Let me make a wish for all of us,' she explained, gathering the three charms. A small gift- for the friends who had become like sisters. A chosen family. Like the one Feyre had found for herself. Nesta squeezed the charms in her palm, closing her eyes, and said: 'I wish for us to have the courage to go out into the world when we are ready, but to always be able to find our way back to each other. No matter what.' Gwyn and Emerie cheered at that. And when Nesta opened her eyes, palm unfurling, she could have sworn the coins glowed faintly.

Rhys stepped up to my side. 'As High Lady, Feyre is no longer my emissary to the human world.' He gave Nesta a tentative smile. 'Want the job?' Nesta's face yielded nothing, but I could have sworn some spark flared. 'Consider this meeting a trial basis. And I'll make you pay through the teeth for my services.' Rhys sketched a bow. 'I would expect nothing less of an Archeron sister.' I poked him in the ribs, and he huffed a laugh. 'Welcome to the court,' he said to her. 'You're about to have one hell of a first day.' And to my eternal shock, a smile tugged at Nesta's mouth.

Nesta looked to me- and I could have sworn fear shone there, and guilt and... some other feeling. 'You told me to run.' 'You're my sister,' was all I said. She'd once tried to cross the wall to save me.

I suppose that loudmouthed bastard told you more than was necessary.' 'You voted against me,' she said, her cold voice belying the crack in her chest. 'You have done nothing to prove you are able to handle such a terrible power,' Amren said with equal iciness. 'On that barge, you told me as much when you walked away from any attempt at mastering it. I offered to teach you more, and you walked away.' 'I walked away because you chose my sister.' Just as Elain had done. Amren had been her friend, her ally, and yet in the end, it hadn't mattered one bit. She'd picked Feyre. 'I didn't choose anyone, you stupid girl,' Amren snapped. 'I told you that Feyre had requested you and I work together again, and you somehow twist that into me siding with her?' Nesta said nothing. 'I told them to leave you alone for months. I refused to speak about you with them. And then the moment I realised my behaviour was not helping you, that maybe your sister was right, I somehow betrayed you?' Nesta shook. 'You know how I feel about Feyre.' 'Yes, poor Nesta, with a younger sister who loves her so dearly she's willing to do anything to get her help.' Nesta blocked out the memory of Tamlin in his beast form, how she had wanted to rip him limb from limb. She was no better than him, in the end. 'Feyre doesn't have me.' She didn't deserve Feyre's love. Just as Tamlin hadn't. Amren barked out a laugh. 'That you believe Feyre doesn't only proves you're unworthy of your power. Anyone that willingly blind cannot be trusted. You would be a walking nightmare with those weapons.' 'It's different now.' The words rang hollow. Was it any different? Was she any different that she'd been this summer, when she and Amren had fought on the barge, and Amren's utter disappointment in her failure to be anything had surfaced at last? Amren smiled, as if she knew that, too. 'You can train as hard as you want, fuck Cassian as often as you want, but it isn't going to fix what's broken if you don't start reflecting.' 'Don't preach at me.. You-' She pointed at Amren, and could have sworn the female stepped out of the line of fire. Just as Tamlin had done. As if Amren also remembered that the last time Nesta had pointed at an enemy, it had ended with his severed head in her hands. A joyless laugh broke from her. 'You think I'd mark you with a death-promise?' 'You nearly did with Tamlin the other day.' So Cassian had told them all about that, too. 'But I'll say to you again what I said on that barge. I think you have powers that you still do not understand, respect, or control.' 'How dare you assume you know what is best for me?' When Amren didn't answer, Nesta hissed, 'You were my friend.' Amren's teeth flashed. 'Was I? I don't think you know what that word means.' Her chest ached, as if that invisible fist had punched her once again. Steps thudded beyond the shattered door, and she braced for Cassian to come roaring in- But it was Feyre.

Gwyn ignored the look, instead glancing around before lowering her voice. “Have you seen volume seven of Lavinia’s The Great War?” Nesta scanned her memory. “No. I haven’t come across that one.” Gwyn frowned. “It’s not on its shelf.” “So someone else has it.” “That’s what I was afraid of.” She released a dramatic breath. “Why?” Gwyn’s voice quieted into a conspiratorial whisper. “I work for someone who is very … demanding.” Memory tugged at Nesta. Someone named Merrill, Clotho had told her the other day. Her right hand. “I take it you’re not fond of the person?” Gwyn leaned against one of the shelves, crossing her arms with a casualness that belied her priestess’s robes. Again, she wore no hood and no blue stone atop her head. “Honestly, while I consider many of the females here to be my sisters, there are a few who are not what I would consider nice.” Nesta snorted. Gwyn again peered down the row. “You know why we’re all here.” Shadows swarmed her eyes—the first Nesta had seen there. “We all have endured …” She rubbed her temple. “So I hate, I hate to even speak ill of any one of my sisters here. But Merrill is unpleasant. To everyone. Even Clotho.” “Because of her experiences?” “I don’t know,” Gwyn said. “All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research, and I might have made a teensy mistake.” She grimaced. “What manner of mistake?” Gwyn blew out a sigh toward the darkened ceiling. “I was supposed to deliver volume seven of The Great War to Merrill yesterday, along with a stack of other books, and I could have sworn I did, but this morning, while I was in her office, I looked at the stack and saw I’d given her volume eight instead.

You will not touch us now.' 'I have every right to kill trespassers on my lands.' The words were guttural, nearly impossible to understand. As if Tamlin had not spoken in a long while. 'Are these still your lands?' Nesta asked coolly, stepping out from behind Cassian. 'Last I heard, you don't bother to rule them anymore.' Eris remained utterly still. He'd been caught meeting with them, she realised. If Tamlin told anyone- Nesta said, 'I suggest you keep your maw shut about this.' Tamlin bristled, hackles rising. 'You're exactly as nasty as your sister said you were.' Nesta laughed. 'I'd hate to disappoint.' She held his emerald stare, knowing silver flames flickered in her eyes. 'I went into the Cauldron because of you,' she said softly, and could have sworn thunder grumbled in the distance. Cassian and Eris faded away into nothing. There was only Tamlin, only this beast, and what he had done to her and her family. 'Elain went into the Cauldron because of you,' Nesta went on. Her fingertips heated, and she knew if she looked down, she'd find silver embers flaring there. 'I don't care how much you apologise or try to atone for it or claim you didn't know the King of Hybern would do such a thing or that you begged him not to do it. You colluded with him. Because you thought Feyre was your property.' Nesta pointed at Tamlin. The ground shook. Cassian swore behind her. Tamlin shrank away from her outstretched finger, claws digging into the earth. 'Put the finger down, you witch.' Nesta smiled. 'I'm glad you remember what happened to the last person I pointed at.' She lowered her arm. 'We're going now.' She stepped back to where Cassian was already waiting, arms open. He wrapped them around her waist. Nesta glanced to Eris, who gave her a shallow, approving nod, then vanished. Nesta said to Tamlin before they shot into the skies, 'Tell anyone you saw us, High Lord, and I'll rip your head from your body.

are sworn, you will be asked to state your name. I know ‘Lange’ is your stage name. Be sure to tell the jury your legal name is LaSalle. Let’s review your testimony again. “You will be asked if you lived with your sister.” “No, when I left college I got my own apartment.” “Are your parents living?” “No, my mother died three years after Leila and I came to New York, and I never knew my father.” “Now let’s review again your testimony, starting with the day before the murder.” “I had been out of town for three months with a stock company. . . . I got in on Friday night, March twenty-eighth, just in time to catch the last preview of Leila’s play.” “How did you find your sister?” “She was obviously under a terrible strain; she kept forgetting her lines. Her performance was a shambles. Between

could have sworn that she saw the tip of Douglas’s tail wag. She left Bomber to his odious sister and tripped downstairs into the bright afternoon sunshine. The last thing she heard as she closed the door behind her was from Portia, in an altogether changed, but still unpleasant, wheedling tone: ‘Now, darling, when are you going to publish my book?’ At the corner of Great Russell Street she stopped for a moment, remembering the man she had smiled at. She hoped that the person he was meeting hadn’t left him waiting for too long. Just then, in amongst the dust and dirt at her feet, the glint of gold and glass caught her eye. She stooped down, rescued the small, round object from the gutter and slipped it safely into her pocket. Chapter 4 It was always the same. Looking down and never turning his face to the sky, he searched the pavements and gutters. His back burned and his eyes watered, full of grit and tears. And then he fell; back through the black into the damp and twisted sheets of his own bed. The dream was always the same. Endlessly searching and never finding the one thing that would finally bring him peace. The house was filled with the deep, soft darkness of a summer night. Anthony swung his weary legs out of bed and sat shrugging the stubborn scraps of dream from his head. He would have to get up. Sleep would not return tonight. He padded down the stairs, their creaking wood echoing his aching bones. No light was needed until he reached the kitchen. He made a pot of tea, finding more comfort in the making than the drinking, and took it through to the study. Pale moonlight skimmed across the edges of the shelves and pooled in the centre of the mahogany table. High on a shelf in the corner, the gold lid of the biscuit tin winked at him as he crossed the room. He took it down carefully and set it in the shimmering circle of light on the table. Of all the things that he had ever found, this troubled him the most. Because it was not a ‘something’ but a ‘someone’; of that he was unreasonably sure. Once again, he removed the lid and inspected the contents, as he had done every day for the past week since bringing it home. He had already repositioned the tin in the study several times, placing it higher up or hidden from sight, but its draw remained irresistible. He couldn’t leave it alone. He dipped his hand into the tin and gently rolled the coarse, grey grains across his fingertips. The memory swept through him, snatching his breath and winding him as surely as any punch to the gut. Once again, he was holding death in his hands. The life they could have had together was a self-harming fantasy in which Anthony rarely indulged. They might have been grandparents by now. Therese had never spoken about wanting children, but then they had both assumed that they had

Unfailing faith is fortified through prayer. Your heartfelt pleadings are important to Him. Think of the intense and impassioned prayers of the Prophet Joseph Smith during his dreadful days of incarceration in Liberty Jail. The Lord responded by changing the Prophet’s perspective. He said, “Know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.” If we pray with an eternal perspective, we need not wonder if our most tearful and heartfelt pleadings are heard. This promise from the Lord is recorded in section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants: “Your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord … and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted. “Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord.” The Lord chose His strongest words to reassure us! Seal! Testament! Sworn! Decreed! Immutable covenant! Brothers and sisters, believe Him! God will heed your sincere and heartfelt prayers, and your faith will be strengthened.

The familiar male’s gaze snagged on her. “What’s her business here?” Nesta gave him a secretive smile. “Witchcraft.” She could have sworn Cassian muttered a plea to the Mother before he cut in, “I will remind you, Devlon, that Nesta Archeron is our High Lady’s sister, and will be treated with respect.” The words held enough of a bite that even Nesta glanced at Cassian’s stone-cold face. She had not heard that unyielding tone since the war. “She will be training here.

Your Seven are leal men and valiant, but they are men, and there are places men cannot go.” The king could not disagree. A raven flew to Duskendale that very night, commanding the new Lord Darklyn to send to court his bastard half-sister, Jonquil Darke, who had thrilled the smallfolk during the War for the White Cloaks as the mystery knight known as the Serpent in Scarlet. Still in scarlet, she arrived at King’s Landing a few days later, and gladly accepted appointment as the queen’s own sworn shield. In time, she would be known about the realm as the Scarlet Shadow, so closely did she guard her lady.