Grace Draven Quotes

Something flared between them, a sense of
camaraderie, of belonging. For a brief moment, Ildiko felt as if
she and Brishen stood alone in this chamber, bound together not
only by vows but by similarities far greater than their obvious
differences. Brishen of House Khaskhem was as fine a man as any
born, whether he was human, Kai or any of the other Elder races
that populated these lands, and Ildiko's affection for him grew by
leaps with every moment she came to know him better

What kind of piss is this?" he said when he caught a breath.

Louvaen frowned. "Probably something he made with the venom and scales of the worlds most evil viper."

"Oh, you have a twin?

The air grew colder and thinner as they rode through the mountain passes. The sun was high and bright, but Martise wrapped her shawl tightly around her and pressed against Silhara's back. Gnat kept a steady pace, breathing harder in the thin air. Unlike him, the mountain ponies suffered no effects from the rising elevation and clipped ahead at a swift pace. Patches of snow spilled from embankments onto the rutted paths. A brisk wind moaned a soft dirge as it whipped through the towering evergreens cloaking the mountainside.
Silhara called a sudden halt. Martise peered around his arm, expecting to see some obstacle in their path. The way was clear, with only the Kurmans watching them curiously.
"What's wrong?"
"You're quaking hard enough to make my teeth rattle." He moved his leg back and untied one of the packs strapped to the saddle. "Get down."
She slid off Gnat's back. Silhara followed and pulled one of their blankets from the packet. "Here. Wrap this around you." She had only pulled the blanket over her shoulders when he picked her up and tossed her onto Gnat's back once more, this time in the front of the flat saddle. She clutched the horse's mane with one hand and held on to her blanket with the other. Silhara vaulted up behind her, scooted her back against him and took up the reins.
"Better," he said and whistled to the waiting Kurmans he was ready. Martise couldn't agree more. The blanket's warmth and Silhara's body heat so

While he disliked the idea of scaring her, ignorance had killed more than its fair share of people, and he wanted her aware of the danger.

My dear, treacherous mother," he breathed. "What have you done?

Once his hair was smooth and free of mats, Martise ran the comb through it for sheer pleasure. He had beautiful hair, straight and black and falling to his waist. It spread across a strong back and wide shoulders, dampening his shirt to a transparent thinness. She slid her hand under its weight and caressed his nape with light strokes of the comb. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head in mute invitation for her to continue. He breathed deep, relaxing under her touch. Martise was anything but relaxed. She was on fire, recalling those moments in the library when he'd given her a taste of the passion burning within him. He was her dreams manifested, a bright and volatile star in a winter sky.

It'll be hard not to tease your folk sometimes."

Brishen couldn't imagine how she might go about such a thing. He had no idea if the Kai and the Gauri even knew the same jokes or found the same things funny. "What do you mean?"

He almost leapt out of his skin when Ildiko stared at him as both of her eyes drifted slowly down and over until they seemed to meet together, separated only by the elegant bridge of her nose.

"Lover of thorns and holy gods!" he yelped and clapped one hand across her eyes to shut out the sight. "Stop that," he ordered.

Ildiko laughed and pushed his hand away. She laughed even harder when she caught sight of his expression. "Wait," she gasped on a giggle. "I can do better. Want to see me make one eye cross and have the other stay still?"

Brishen reared back. "No!" He grimaced. "Nightmarish. I'll thank you to keep that particular talent to yourself, wife.

He pushed back his hood so she might see him as clearly as he saw her. "Wife of my soul," he said softly. She closed her eyes and sagged in his arms. "Oh gods, Ballard. I don't want to go.

I understand you've been helping Gurn. A comfort to know that while you can't work a simple spell, you can at least milk a goat"

Her hands twitched before relaxing at her sides. He was curious to see if she'd conquer that urge to slam her fist into his jaw. It seemed so as she laced her fingers together until her knuckles turned white.

"Yes, Master. I've worked among livestock all my life, including cows, pigs, goats…and asses.

An excellent choice to pair the scarpatine with the potato, Your Highness. They are better together than apart.

Ildiko had been tempted more than a few times to cross her eyes and watch their reaction.
"Don't even think about it, wife. You'll notice half of them are sharpening or cleaning their weapons. All I need is for someone to inadvertently slice themselves open because you startled them.

This should never have happened, Brishen. We were unimportant, you and I. We weren't supposed to mean anything to anyone."
"Woman of day," he said slowly. "You mean everything to me.

Martise, lower your knife. There are more than a few people eager to carve out my heart. You'll have to take your place in line.

The gelding held still when he took the reins, swung nimbly onto the horse's wide back and patted its withers. "You've grown fat on plains grass, Gnat. This journey will do you good."

Martise's eyes widened. "Gnat? His name is Gnat?" She stared at the mountain of horseflesh, heavily muscled and big-boned, with a girth that would make riding astride a challenge, and he stood at least seventeen hands high.

Gnat swung his large head in her direction, as if questioning her incredulity. Silhara stared down his nose, the expression made even more imperious by his high seat on the horse's back. "I didn't think 'Butterfly' suitable."

A betraying flutter rose in her throat. "No," she said, eyes tearing with the effort to hold in her laughter. "I suppose not.

I will stand beside you through all of this,' she said when she could finally speak. "And welcome you home with gladness when it's over, and you return triumphant.

He burned as if with fever, and she burned for him.

Gained a little wisdom, did you?" "Age and experience do that for a person." "True. There should be some reward for creaking bones and gray hair." He

I'm not laughing, and I'm not running. I wont lie either. You're a chilling sight to behold. I've had nightmares of monsters prettier than you." She stepped closer and raised her other hand to thread her fingers through his hair. This time he didn't flinch away. "But you're still you under all this flux nonsense. Only a fool of a woman would run from such an extraordinary man, and I am no fool, Ballard de Sauveterre.

She made him strong; she made him weak, and in that moment, she nearly put him on his knees.

Resting beside her, he seemed to Ildiko a living statue, carved from dark granite into a form of supple elegance and power. He was beautiful, and the tremor change in her perception of him robbed her lungs of air.
He opened both eyes suddenly, making her jump. Two shimmering gold coins stared at her unblinking. "Good evening, wife," he said in a voice raspy with the remnants of sleep. A closed-lip smile curved his mouth upward and deepened the tiny lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes. "You're staring. Do I have a fly on my nose?"
Fighting down a blush at being caught gawking at her own husband, Ildiko lightly tapped the tip of his nose with one finger. "I was trying to find a way to kill it without punching you in the face. Lucky for you, it flew away.

How interesting that a man didn't always admire his own traits in another. The

A damsel in complete distress was a burden to her protectors; one familiar with self defence, not as much.

He placed a finger over her lips. She held her breath when he clasped one of her hands, slid it down his chest and over his taut stomach before curving her fingers over the bulge in his trews. They both moaned when she rubbed her palm gently over his hard shaft and stroked his bollocks with her fingers. He was hot in her hands, a tempting combination of hard and soft. "I know what I see," he breathed into her ear and thrust against her palm. "Know what I hold. This is what you do to me." She would have fallen had he not held her up with an arm wrapped around her back. She sought his mouth, touched her lips to his. He opened to her seeking tongue, allowing her to delve inside and stroke his mouth. His tongue twined with hers, giving back as much as he took. He tasted better than summer wine, better than the first harvest fruits of spring. The kiss deepened, a mating of tongues that mimicked the slow thrust of his hips. His hands wandered over her body, sliding down her back, cupping her buttocks. They left trails of fire in their wake, and Martise moaned in his mouth.

Hello, pretty hag," he said.

"Wolf," she teased. "You look good enough to eat."

One of his eyebrows rose. "Why is it when I tell you that, you look ready to bolt for the door?"

She braced her hands on her hips. "I do not," she said, indignant. "At least not anymore.

She reached into a pocket of her tunic and brought out a small decorative box. She placed it on the table and slid it toward him. He squelched the urge to push it back. "I came to bring you this. It's yours."

You have done an unwise thing, Martise of Asher," he said softly. "You've caught my interest.

You've flowers in you hair," she said. Tender amusement, instead of distaste, threaded her voice.

"That's because they're growing out of my head.

He didn't think it possible to sign sewage-sucking-excuse-of-a-baseborn-bilge-rat but somehow Gurn managed.

If anyone poisoned your drink, I'm not to blame." She bared her teeth. "This time." A hard swat on her shoulder made her jerk away. Cinnia glared at her, a blush dusting her cheekbones. "Lou, stop being so rude!" She offered a conciliatory smile to Ambrose. "My apologies, Ambrose. She's always been a scold in the morning." He huffed and raised his tankard in mock toast to Louvaen. "You must live a life of eternal morning.

She sighed. "I can't help it. I worry for you when you lead these patrols. I don't sleep until you return."

His features softened. "Then you don't dream of me when I'm gone,

You make a very handsome dead eel, my husband,"
"For a boiled mollusk, you wear black quite well, my wife,

A book on steam engine design lay next to one of poems by the poet laureate Tennyson. Lenore traced the poetry book's cover design. A finely made book with its gold-tooled leather and gilt-edged vellum pages. A beautiful book. An expensive one given to her by a man who'd likely spent three months' hard-earned wages to obtain it.

Lenore made a mournful sound in her throat. Nathaniel. She closed her eyes, remembering his ready smile and eyes as blue as bachelor's button. She thought of him every day, but lately, in the weeks following her father's death, he was constantly on her mind.

Brishen tried to pull her close, but she danced out his reach. "You'll muss my hair, and Sinhue will string you up by your guts if you ruin all her hard work. I'm terrified of even sneezing in case I do something to it and suffer the same death."

Brishen scowled, his expression both exasperated and puzzled. "Just wear a hat."

She refused to dignify the ridiculous suggestion with a reply. Men.

Did I please you?"
Silhara raised his head slowly to stare at her. High color flagged his cheekbones. His pupils swallowed the lighter black of his eyes. "Please me? You've vanquished me.

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I'm not desperate for a child, Ildiko. I'm desperate for my wife. That's it. No matter what you believe, you aren't lesser. Not to me. You are all.

Sometimes you do the thing you hate so others don't have to, whether it's from love, guilt, or blackmail.

They laughed together then until the woman's features turned somber. "Thank you for not lying about what you thought of my appearance. You might have a face to turn my hair white, but your honesty is handsome.

Ildiko tried to embrace him and frowned when he stepped out of reach, still retaining his hold on her hand.

"I'm filthy, wife, and need a bath of my own." His nostrils flared, and his voice lowered to a more guttural timbre. "Lover of thorns, but you smell good enough to eat."

She arched an eyebrow and glanced at the platters on the table. "Considering our people's respective histories, not to mention that wolf smile when you say such a thing, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or scream for help.

All you have to do is breathe, and you seduce me.

I can't accept this, my lord. Its too fine a gift, and I am no queen."

Ballard gently pushed it back to her. "You are, Louvaen. You're simply uncrowned.

Don't sing." He pointed a finger at her for emphasis. "You've scared my dog, my birds and my servant with your yowling." He paused. "You've even managed to scare me.

It became my duty once the witch before me became too crippled to attend the Rites. Sometimes you do the thing you hate so others don't have to, whether it's from love, guilt, or blackmail." She paused to level a condemning stare on him. "No other woman in Beroe is safe from fire. It would be wrong and cowardly of me to let them burn when I can go in their place and survive. It doesn't mean I have to like it just because I'm willing to accept it.

Fear can be a good thing. It keeps you sharp and alert. It isn't a weakness when it benefits you.

I would have been content to live my life as just Brishen," he whispered into her hair. "Who was loved by Ildiko.

Ildiko clutched his arm, unwilling to have him leave her side. "I enjoy your touch, Brishen."

The stiffness eased from his shoulders. He gave her a wry look and pressed his palm to the pale expanse of skin just below her collarbones. His hand rose and fell in quick time to her breathing. "I believe you, but this tells me you fear it as well."

She winced. "Your teeth are so...sharp."

"They are, but I'm not careless, wife. And if, for some unfathomable reason, I accidently bite you, you're welcome to bite me back."

His attempt at humor worked, and Ildiko chuckled. "Brishen - " She offered him a toothy grin. "These wouldn't do much damage."

He traced the line of her collarbones with the rough pads of his fingers, their dark claws a whisper of movement across her flesh. "You have obviously never been badly bitten by a horse.

Ildiko scowled. "Why is it that 'there is more' always heralds something worse instead of something better?

A man with clear sight into his own soul will always make a wise decision.

Sleep here each day, Ildiko." A sweet warmth suffused her. She entangled her legs with his and hugged his arm to her waist. "As you wish. Just don't steal the blankets.

Only fools and dead men have no fear, Martise. And the former often become the latter because of the lack.

Her eyes bothered him most. Unlike the Kai, hers were layers of opaque white, blue ringed in gray and black pinpoint centers that expanded or contracted with the light. The first time he'd witnessed that reaction in a human, all the hairs on his nape stood straight up. That, and the way the contrasting colors made it easy to see the eyes move in their sockets gave the impression they weren't body parts but entities unto themselves living as parasites inside their hosts' skulls.

He was used to seeing the frantic eye-rolling in a frightened horse but not a person. If the parasite impression didn't repulse him so much, he'd think humans lived in a constant state of hysterical terror.

Privilege," she said gently, "gives the crown its shine. Duty gives it its weight.

I'd challenge gods and queens to make you mine, Ballard. Conquer a kingdom or two if necessary.

I've always believed that talking to the dead is sometimes easier than talking to the living." She shrugged at his questioning look. "They listen better.

She was halfway through the book, her eyes heavy with sleep, when the bedroom door opened. Brishen stood at the threshold, dressed down to undertunic and trousers, his feet bare and his hair damp. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "Woman of day, you waited for me."

Ildiko closed her book and offered him a drowsy smile. Relief and happiness coursed through her. "Prince of night, you've come back to me - your head intact."

"I promised I'd try."

On a snowy winter morning, Martise of Neith - once of Asher - opened a gate and awakened darkness.

And will you love me for a day? A year? A lifetime?" She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it in that beautiful, shattered voice.
"Beyond that," he whispered, eyes shining with the tempest of emotion he'd held in check until now. "Beyond the reign of false gods and meddlesome priests. Beyond al Zafira when her bright stars fade.

A companion," he whispered against her mouth. "A lover." He nibbled at her bottom lip, and his hand slid from her nape to cup the back of her head. "A beloved wife.

You find me ugly, don't you?"
"Hideous. A hag of a woman. And you? You don't think me a handsome man?"
"Had you crawled out from under my bed when I was a child, I would have bludgeoned you to death with my father's mace.

What if I told you, I'm a sliver of a breath away from hauling you behind that barricade." He indicated a low wall away from the crowds with a thrust of his chin. His voice thickened. "Hitching your skirts and taking you against the timbers."

"I would tell you to remember to cover my mouth so I don't embarrass us both by screeching your name from the pleasure of it.