Evanjalin Quotes

And when Finnikin grabbed her to him and buried his face in her neck and then bent down and placed his mouth on hers, the others pretended that there was something very interesting happening in the meadow. The priest-king even pointed at the nothing they were pretending to see. But Froi didn't. He just watched the way Finnikin's hands rested on Evanjalin's neck and he rubbed his thumb along her jaw and the way his tongue seemed to disappear inside her mouth as if he needed a part of her to breathe himself. And Froi wondered what Evanjalin was saying against Finnikin's lips when they stopped because whatever the words were it made them start all over again and this time their hunger for each other was so frightening to watch that it made Froi look away. ~ Melina Marchetta

But in ten years, no one had ever asked what he was thinking. And he knew that the novice Evanjalin was asking for more than just his thoughts. She wanted the part of him he fought to keep hidden. The part that held his foolish hopes and aching memories. ~ Melina Marchetta

Tell me about the farm," she pleaded as drops of blood began to appear on her hand.
"The farm?"
"The farm that Finnikin the peasant would have lived on with his bride."
"Evanjalin. That was her name. Did I mention that?"
She laughed through a sob. "No, you didn't."
"They would plant rows upon rows of wheat and barley, and each night they would sit under the stars to admire what they owned. Oh, and they would argue. She believes the money made would be better spent on a horse, and he believes they need a new barn. But then later they would forget all their anger and he would hold her fiercely and never let her go."
"And he'd place marigolds in her hair?" she asked.
He clasped her hands against his and watched her blood seep through the lines of his skin. "And he would love her until the day he died," he said. ~ Melina Marchetta

All right, silent dark bear with angry frown, tell me more about your land."

He settled back down, picturing it. "I would tend to our land from the moment the sun rose to when it set and then you ...she would tend to me."

He laughed at her expression again. The world of exile camps and the Valley felt very far away, and he wanted to lie there forever.

"Let me tell you about your bride," she said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Both of you would cultivate the land. You would hold the plow, and she would walk alongside you with the ox, coaxing and singing it forward. A stick in her hand, of course, for she would need to keep both the ox and you in line."

"What would we...that is, my bride and I, grow?"

"Wheat and barley."
"And marigolds."
Her nose crinkled questioningly.

"I would pick them when they bloomed," he said. "And when she called me home for supper, I'd place them in her hair and the contrast would take my breath away."

"How would she call you? From your cottage? Would she bellow, 'Finnikin!'?"

"I'd teach her the whistle. One for day and one for night."

"Ah, the whistle, of course. I'd forgotten the whistle. ~ Melina Marchetta

What is she like? Evanjalin of the Monts?' he asked.

Finnikin thought for a moment. 'Strong. In here,' he said, thumping his chest twice. 'Humbling. Ruthless. Cunning. She can love people with a fierceness that I have not seen before.' He smiled when he realized he was talking too much. 'And she looks like a Mont woman, so of course she's very beautiful. ~ Melina Marchetta