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535 pages, Paperback
First published February 13, 2014
"I could kill for ever."
"I changed my mind. It's been a slow morning and I am easily bored. You, fresh - meat. Who would like to die first?" She held up one of her daggers, showing it to the youngest guard. "This one is called frostling, and the other is ashes."
"That's the copper cat," he blurted. "She'll kill us all, and take our bodies back to crosshaven to feed to the graces!"
"'I love the stories like that' said Wydrin. 'Kings hidden under hills, magic in the ground.' She went quiet for a moment. 'Although the it's less entertaining when it's actually happening to you'"
“We are ruin. We are your children.”Yes, you are, my babies! And daddy loves you! Oops, sorry, I’m afraid I tend to get carried away when my scrumptiously evil daughters are around. They have somewhat homicidal personalities, you see, and therefore remind me of my other murderous children (you know, the delightfully vicious ones with the serrated pincers?). Anyway, the Bookish Horde of Doom. They are merciless. They are green, they have scales, they have pointy teeth. Ergo, they are sexy as fish. Also, they have a thing for books and works. And that, my Comely Decapods, is bloody shrimping amazing indeed. And that, my Tiny Arthropods, means that they should have been the stars of this book. But they weren’t. Which is slightly unacceptable and a little outrageous, methinks
Wydrin thought back to the first time they’d met Frith in Creos, how he’d limped into The Hands of Fate tavern like a man who lived under the constant shadow of death. It had seemed like a simple job, a quick job, sure to lead to riches and stories and danger, yes, but nothing they couldn’t handle. A copper promise, sealed in ale and dipped in bravado, and here they were now. Really, it was a gift of the Graces that they weren’t dead already.
Sebastian looked, and then sat up straighter in his chair.
‘By Isu, I think that’s him.’
Wydrin raised her eyebrows.
‘I thought you said he was a lord?’
Spotting them, the white-haired man came over, doing his best not to limp too obviously. He wore a heavy black cloak that didn’t quite disguise his emaciated frame.
‘My lord?’
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‘Nothing is worth this, nothing is worth being the one left behind.’
‘Inside that ratty bag she wears across her back there is a pack of cards,’ he said quietly. ‘Eventually she will ask you if you fancy a quick game of Poison Sally. Find an excuse not to play. Don’t tell her you don’t know the rules, she’ll only offer to teach you, and then you’ll be truly done for. But outside of card games? No more untrustworthy than your usual sell-sword.’
‘It is better to haunt you, to slowly pick at your mind, and experience the pleasure of watching you fall apart. You’ll never know a moment’s peace, and I will enjoy every—’
‘Hold on.’ Wydrin gestured with the dagger. ‘I don’t buy it. You wish to irritate me to death from a distance, when you could just run me through with that sword? No, I don’t believe it.’
‘It is not natural, what they ask of us. To live and die with each other, but’
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