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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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More quotes by R.L. LaFevers
Every time he glances at me I feel it just as surely as if he has reached out and run his finger along my soul. It is all I can do not to smile at the sheer wonder of it.
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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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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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One heart cannot serve two masters.
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... true faith never comes without anguish.
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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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He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
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I am sorry,' he whispers. 'I am sorry I treated you so ill. I thought only to protect Duval.' 'It was not I who was poisoning him,' I say. 'No, but you had stolen his heart and I was afraid you would rip it from his chest when you left.
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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.
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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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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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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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You would throw away all that we have given you for a man’s love?” “Not a man’s love,” I say softly. “But Duval’s. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.
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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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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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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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The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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You come to us well tempered, my child, and it is not in my nature to be sorry for it. It is a well tempered blade that is the strongest.
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