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When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
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Expect
Dance
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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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One heart cannot serve two masters.
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He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. Who are you? I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. Vengeance, I say softly.
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People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.
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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.
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I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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And so it is with us we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.
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It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.
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He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
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When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.
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God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.
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We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.
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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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... true faith never comes without anguish.
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