Wylan drew himself up. “I may not have had your … education, but I’m sure I know plenty of words that you don’t.”“Also the proper way to fold a napkin and dance a minuet. Oh, and you can play the flute. Marketable skills, merchling. Marketable skills.”“No one dances the minuet any more,” grumbled Wylan.
Jesper: “If Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.”Kaz: “I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.”Matthias: “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.
It’s the people who never learn the word impossible who make history, because they’re the ones who keep trying.
Nikolai had been told that hope was dangerous, had been warned of it many times. But he’d never believed that. Hope was the wind that came from nowhere to fill your sails and carry you home.
They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things—if love can ever be called that.
This goes to show you that sometimes the unseen is not to be feared and that those meant to love us most are not always ones who do.
I don’t want your prayers, he said.
What do you want, then?
The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.
They are orphans again, with no true home but each other and whatever life they can make together on the other side of the sea.
The moment our lips met, I knew with pure and piercing certainty that I would have waited for him forever.
I don’t care if you danced naked on the roof of the Little Palace with him. I love you, Alina, even the part of you that loved him.
Let the hounds give chase. I do not fear death, because I command it.
Sisters in battle, I am shield and blade to you. As I breathe, your enemies will know no sanctuary. While I live, your cause is mine.
I have loved you all my life, Mal,” I whispered through my tears. “There is no end to our story.
This is what love does. In the stories, love healed your wounds, fixed what was broken, allowed you to go on. But love wasn’t a spell, some kind of benediction to be whispered, a balm or a cure-all. It was a single, fragile thread, which grew stronger through connection, through shared hardship and trust.
Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?Guns? asked Jesper.Ships? queried Inej.Bombs? suggested Wylan. Political bribes? offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. This is where you tell us how awful we are, she whispered.
Do you answer a question directly?Hard to say. Ah, there, I’ve done it again