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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.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
Hand
Softly
Start
Slip
Tiller
Hands
Vengeance
Crossbow
Around
Slips
Crossbows
Doe
Wood
Frowns
Hard
Woods
Slit
Fingers
Slits
Close
Annoyance

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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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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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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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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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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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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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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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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
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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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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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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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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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Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.
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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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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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