Kestrin Quotes

Arin, you're not listening. You're not thinking clearly."
"You're right. I haven't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. But I understand now." Arin pushed his tiles away. His winning hand scattered out of line. "You have changed, Kestrel. I don't know who you are anymore. And I don't want to. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She said, I'm going to miss you when you when I wake up.
Don't wake up, he answered.
But he did.
Kestrel, beside him on the grass, said. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to."
It took him a velvety moment to understand that this was real. The air was quiet. An insect beat it's clear wings. She brushed hair from his brow. Now he was very awake.
"You were sleeping so sweetly," she said.
"Dreaming" He touched her tender mouth.
"About what?"
"Come closer, and I will tell you."
But he forgot. He kissed her, and became lost in the exquisite sensation of his skin becoming too tight for his body. He murmured other things instead. A secret, a want, a promise. A story, in its own way.
She curled her fingers into the green earth ~ Marie Rutkoski

Little Fists, what's wrong? ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin. I've wanted to do this for a long time."
Her words silenced him, steadied him.
Antecipation lifted within her like the fragance of a garden under the rain. She sat at the piano, touching the keys. "Ready?"
He smiled. "Play. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin remmembered seeing her hand in Javelin's mane, curling into the coarse strands. This made him remember the almost freakish lenghth between her littlest finger and thumb as her hand spanned piano keys. The black star of the birth-mark. He saw her again in the imperial palace. Her music room. He'd seen that room only once. About a month ago, right before Firstsummer. Her blue sleeves were fastened at the wrist.
Something tugged inside him. A flutter of unease.
Do you sing? Those had been her first words to him, the day she had bought him. A band of nausea circled Arin's throat, just as it had when she had asked him that question, in part for the same reason. She'd had no trace of an accent. She had spoken in perfect, natural, mother-taught Herrani. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I told you everything I know", said the messenger. Arin had gone to his childhood suite, feeling anxiety verging on panic at the thought of not finding the man there, of having to track him down, of time lost…but the man had opened the outermost door almost immediately after Arin's pounding knock.
"I didn't ask you the right questions," Arin said. "I want to start again. You said that the prisoner reached trough the bars of the wagon to give you the moth."
"Yes"
"And you couldn't really see her."
"That's right."
"But you said she was Herrani. Why would you say that if you couldn't see her?"
"Because she spoke in Herrani."
"Perfectly."
"Yes."
"No accent."
"No."
"Describe the hand."
"I'm not sure…"
"Start with the skin. You said it was paler than yours, than mine."
"Yes, like a house slave's."
Which wasn't very different from a Valorian's. "Could you see her wrist, her arm?"
"The wrist, yes, now that you mention it. She was in chains. I saw the manacle."
"Did you see the sleeve of a dress?"
"Maybe. Blue?"
Dread churned inside Arin. "You think or you know?"
"I don't know. Things happened too fast."
"Please. This is important."
"I don't want to say something I'm not sure is true."
"All right, all right. Was this her right hand or her left?"
"I don't know."
"Can you tell me anything about it? Did she wear a seal ring?"
"Not that I saw, but –"
"Yes? ~ Marie Rutkoski