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

More quotes by R.L. LaFevers

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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.
R.L. LaFevers
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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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It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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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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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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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.
R.L. LaFevers
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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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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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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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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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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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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.
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People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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For all that I have kissed before, I have never felt anything like this. It is as if I have swallowed a tiny piece of the sun, its warmth and light reaching into every corner of my soul and chasing away the shadows. I surrender to that kiss - surrender to the strength and the courage and the sheer goodness of the man.
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When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.
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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.
R.L. LaFevers