Marie Rutkoski Quotes

Your mother played beautifully."
"And I?"
"You, even more so."
"I was glad that you listened to me play."
He sighed. "That watch."
"I like your watch. You must continue to wear it. It'll keep you honest. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Temptation was the color white. It was black ink, quivering at the point of a pen's nib. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I am sure you're very pleased to have a pair of foxes," Kestrel told Irex now, "but you'll have to do better."
"I set down my tile," Irex said coldly. "I cannot take it back."
"I'll let you take it back. Just this once."
"You want me to take it back."
"Ah. So you agree that I know what tile you mean to play."
Benix shifted his weight on Lady Faris's delicate chair. It creaked. "Flip the damn tile, Irex. And you, Kestrel: Quit toying with him."
"I'm merely offering friendly advice."
Benix snorted.
Kestrel watched Irex watch her, his anger mounting as he couldn't decide whether Kestrel's words were a lie, the well-meant truth, or a truth she hoped he would judge a lie. He flipped the tile: a fox.
"Too bad," said Kestrel, and turned over one of hers, adding a third bee to her other two matching tiles. She swept the four gold coins of the ante to her side of the table. "See, Irex? I had only your best interests at heart."
Benix blew out a gusty sigh. He settled back in his protesting chair, shrugged, and seemed the perfect picture of amused resignation. He kept his head bowed while he mixed the Bite and Sting tiles, but Kestrel saw him shoot Irex a wary glance. Benix, too, had seen the rage that turned Irex's face into stone.
Irex shoved back from the table. He stalked over the flagstone terrace to the grass, which bloomed with the highest members of Valorian society.
"That wasn't necessary," Benix told Kestrel.
"It ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin would trade his heart for a snarled knot of thread if it meant he would never have to see Kestrel again. ~ Marie Rutkoski

But finally, when they stopped to sleep, not bothering with a tent, just bedding down in a hollow they'd trampled in the tall grass with their boots, Arin spoke. He slid a hand under her tunic to touch her bare back, then stopped. "Is this all right?"
She wanted to explain that she hadn't thought she'd ever bear anyone's touch on her scarred back, that it should revolt him and revolt her. Yet his touch made her feel soft and new. "Yes."
He pushed the shirt up, seeking the lash marks, tracing their length. She let herself feel it, and shivered, and thought of nothing. But a tension grew. He was still, but for his hand.
Kestrel said, "What's wrong?"
"Your life would have been easier if you had married the Valorian prince."
She drew herself up so that she could face him. The scent of black powder clung to them both. His skin smelled like a blown-out candle. "But not better," she said. ~ Marie Rutkoski

And Kestrel was in a good position to gather information for Arin's spymaster, wasn't she? Beloved by the court. Daughter of the general. Close to the emperor. Promised to his son. Tensen would never tell Arin if she was his source.
It fit perfectly. Look at her now. The maid's uniform. That coat. Something hidden in her eyes. Oh, yes. Kestrel would make a fine spy.
And let's not forget that ruined dress Deliah had described, with the ripped seams and vomit and mucky hem.
Wouldn't it be like Kestrel, to risk herself?
For what? Herran?
Him?
Gods of madness and lies. Arin was insane.
He laughed out loud. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Let Arin surprise us," Roshar said. "That's how we do things. He comes up with something brilliant and I take the credit. ~ Marie Rutkoski

What makes you believe that the emperor wasn't behind it? Do you have other enemies I don't know about?"
"No. It was him."
"So you're just being difficult."
"One of my enduring qualities. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She reminded herself bitterly that this was what curiosity had bought her: fifty keystones for a singer who refused to sing, a friend who wasn't her friend, some one who was hers and yet would never be hers. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Yet he understood that there are some things you feel and others that you choose to feel, and that the choice doesn't make the feeling less valid. ~ Marie Rutkoski

It was late afternoon and she was sitting alone in her breakfast room, blankly staring out a window at bad weather, when she heard rapid, fierce footfalls striding toward her.
"Stop crying." Arin's tone was brutal.
Kestrel lifted fingertips to her cheek. They came away wet. "You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice hoarse. The breakfast room was one into which men were not allowed.
"I don't care." He tugged Kestrel to her feet, and the shock of it forced her gaze to his. The blacks of his eyes were blown wide with feeling.
With anger. "Stop it," he said. "Stop pretending to mourn someone who wasn't your blood."
His hand was iron around her wrist. She pulled free, the cruelty of what he had said bringing fresh tears to her eyes. "I loved her," Kestrel whispered.
"You loved her because she did anything you wanted."
"That's not true."
"She didn't love you. She could never love you. Where is her real family, Kestrel?"
She didn't know. She had been afraid to ask.
"Where is her daughter? Her grandchildren? If she loved you, it was because she had no choice, and there was no one else left."
"Get out," she told him, but he was already gone. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I love seeing a story evolve over several books and watching characters develop. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She had dreams that shamed her in the morning, dreams where Ronan gave her a white powdered cake, yet spoke in Arin's voice. I made this for you, he said. Do you like it?
The powder was so fine that she inhaled its sweetness, but always woke before she could taste. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Why are you delivering my dress?"
"I saw Lirah with it. I asked if I could bring it to you."
"And she let you, of course."
He lifted his brows at her tone. "She was busy. I thought she would be glad for one less thing to do."
"That was kind of you then," Kestrel said, though she heard her voice indicate otherwise and was annoyed with herself.
Slowly, he said, "What do you mean?"
"I mean nothing."
"You asked me to be honest with you. Do you think I have been?"
She remembered his harsh words during the storm. "Yes."
"Can I not ask the same thing of you?"
The answer was no, no slave could ask anything of her. The answer was no, if he wanted her secret thoughts he could try to win them at Bite and Sting. But Kestrel swallowed a sudden flare of nervousness and admitted to herself that she valued his honesty--and her own, when she was around him. There was nothing wrong with speaking the truth. "I think that you are not fair to Lirah."
His brows drew together. "I don't understand."
"It's not fair for you to encourage Lirah when your heart is elsewhere."
He inhaled sharply. Kestrel thought that he might tell her it was no business of hers, for it was not, but then she saw that he wasn't offended, only taken aback. He pulled up a chair in that possessive, natural way of his and sank into it, dropping the dress onto his knees. He studied her. She willed herself not to look away.
"I hadn't thought of Lirah like that. ~ Marie Rutkoski

What could you say about someone who walked daily into his grief and lived at the bottom of its hole and didn't even want to come out? ~ Marie Rutkoski

Some days are just born bad. You know the type. The kind you want to sweep into your palm like spilled salt and toss over your left shoulder, hoping that if you don't look back nothing worse will happen. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin kept company with death, but death was not all that lived inside him.
A girl in his heart. In his home.
Waiting for him. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that could have any power over him. Yet she would, if she won the auction.
He wanted her to. The thought swept Arin with a merciless, ugly joy. He'd never seen her before, but he guessed who she was: Lady Kestrel, General Trajan's daughter.
The crowd heard her bid. And at once it seemed that Arin was worth something after all. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Why can't you marry him?" he whispered.
She broke her word to herself and looked at him. "Because of you."
Arin's hand flinched against her cheek. His dark head bowed, became lost in its own shadow. Then he slipped from his seat and knelt before hers. His hands fell to the fists on her lap and gently opened them. He held them as if cupping water. He took a breath to speak.
She would have stopped him. She would have wished herself deaf, blind, made of unfeeling smoke. She would have stopped his words out of terror, longing. The way terror and longing had become indistinguishable.
Yet his hands held hers, and she could do nothing.
He said, "I want the same thing you want."
Kestrel pulled back. It wasn't possible his words could mean what they seemed.
"It hasn't been easy for me to want it." Arin lifted his face so that she could see his expression. A rich emotion played across his features, offered itself, and asked to be called by its name.
Hope. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She'd betrayed her country because she'd believed it was the right thing to do. Yet would she have done this, if not for Arin?
He knew none of it. Had never asked for it. Kestrel had made her own choices. It was unfair to blame him.
But she wanted to. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She'd wanted to put her fear inside a white box and give it to Arin. You, too, she would tell him. I fear for you. I fear for me if I lost you. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Her words came in a sudden rush. "You're hard to look away from. I can't look away from you. I don't know how anyone could. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin imagined how, if he could, he would kneel before the boy he had been. He'd cradle himself to his chest, let the child bury his wet face against his shoulder. Shh, Arin would tell him. You will be lonely, but you' ll become strong. One day, you will have your revenge. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin heard the door to the barracks creak. The sound brought him immediately to his feet, for only one person would come to his cell this late at night. Then he heard the first heavy footfall, and his hands slackened around the metal bars. The footsteps coming were not hers. They belonged to someone big. Solid, slow. Probably a man.
Torchlight pulsed toward Arin's cell. When he saw who carried it, he pulled away from the bars. He saw a child's nightmare come to life.
The general set the torch in a sconce. He stared, taking in Arin's fresh bruises, his height, his features. The general's frown deepened.
This man didn't look like Kestrel. He was all mass and muscle. But Arin found her in the way her father lifted his chin, and his eyes held the same dangerous intelligence.
"Is she all right?" Arin said. When he received no response, he asked again in Valorian. And because he had already damned himself with a question he couldn't bear not to ask, Arin said something he had sworn he would never say. "Sir."
"She's fine."
A feeling flowed into Arin, something like sleep or the sudden absence of pain.
"If I had my choice, I would kill you," said the general, "but that would cause more talk. You'll be sold. Not right away, because I don't want to be seen reacting to a scandal. But soon.
"I'll be spending some time at home, and I will be watching you. If you come near my daughter, I will forget my better judgment. I will have you torn limb from ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin had warned her that when she had a high chance of winning, her very lack of tells showed her confidence. I don't think most people notice, he'd said. Your expression doesn't change. You've no tic or gesture. I just get the sense that there's an energy inside you I can't reach, and that if I did, it'd strike like lightning. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Isn't that ... isn't that what friends do? They change our perspective on the world. Part of why we care about them is because we love that feeling. The feeling of being changed. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She saw, yet again, that her friend's compliments were just bits of art and artifice. They were paper swans, cunningly folded so that they could float on the air for a few moments. Nothing more. ~ Marie Rutkoski

His dark head bowed, became lost in its own shadow. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Lucas," his sister scolded. "Stop staring at the pretty inferno. Introduce yourself to our guests. ~ Marie Rutkoski

There can be second chances. But maybe it's also true that things can never be the same, and that you have to decide whether the second chance lives up to the first. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Brother, you are mad," said the queen. "He loves me," Roshar protested. The cub was sleeping huddled against Rosher's leg. "And when it has grown, and is large enough to eat a man?" "Then I'll make Arin take care of him. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She knew that he would stop her. Perhaps he would be cunning about it. Maybe he would go to the steward behind her back, tell him of the theft and challenge, and ask to be brought before the judge and Irex. If that plan didn't suit Arin, he would find another.
He was going to be a problem.
"You're right," she told him.
Arin blinked, then narrowed his eyes.
"In fact," she continued, "if you had let me explain, I would have told you that I had already decided to call off the duel."
"You have."
She showed him the two letters. The one addressed to her father was on top. She let the mere edge of the other letter show. "One is for my father, telling him what has happened. The other is for Irex, making my apologies and inviting him to collect his five hundred gold pieces whenever he likes."
Arin still looked skeptical.
"He'll also collect you, of course. Knowing him, he'll have you whipped until you're unconscious and even after that. I'm sure that when you wake up, you'll be very glad that I decided to do exactly as you wanted."
Arin snorted.
"If you doubt me, you're welcome to walk with me to the barracks to watch as I give my father's letter to a soldier, with orders for its swift delivery."
"I think I will." He opened the library door.
They left the house and crossed the hard ground. Kestrel shivered. She hadn't stopped to fetch a cloak. She couldn't risk that Arin would change his mind.
When they entered the barra ~ Marie Rutkoski

Pressing where you're not invited seems to be a habit with you."
"And yours is to put people in their place. But people aren't gaming pieces. You can't arrange them to suit yourself."
A librarian coughed.
"Lower your voice," Kestrel hissed at Arin. "Stop being so--"
"Inconvenient?"
"Frankly, yes."
His smile came: quick, true, surprised by itself. Then changing, and slow. "I could be worse."
"I am sure."
"I could tell you how."
"Arin, how is it for you here, in the capital?"
He held her gaze. "I would rather talk about what we were talking about. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She said, "Why can't you see that people care for you?"
She said, "I care for you."
"I know that you care. But…" He searched her face. "Anyone would, for a friend."
"You're more than a friend."
"On the battlefield, you stayed--"
"Of course I did."
"You have a strong sense of honor. You always have. I think you think you owe me something."
"I stayed because I love you."
He flinched and looked away. "You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do."
The night outside seemed to swell against the tent. The lamp smelled like a hot stone. His face slowly opened. He touched her hand as it pressed against his heart. His caress was light, secret, almost unsure of her knuckles, the thin tendons as strong as bone. She felt him become sure.
There was no sound when he kissed her. None when she unthreaded the ties of his shirt and found his skin.
He grasped her dagger belt, flexed his fingers once around the leather, then simply held on. He whispered something into her mouth that was almost a word. It lost its shape, became something else.
He let go. She heard the brush of linen as he drew the shirt over his head, his fingertips grazing the tent's sloped ceiling as if for balance. His ribs were bound with gauze, his body marked by scars. Old ones, badly healed and raised. Others, pink and fresh. His shoulders bore pale gouges; they looked like sets of claws, almost deliberate, like tattoos. Curious, she touched them.
He bit his lip.
Marie Rutkoski

Any consideration of the story we call 'Cinderella' for simplicity's sake must acknowledge that 'Cinderella' has had a dizzying array of personae over hundreds of years, in several cultures. There is no one authoritative tale of 'Cinderella,' only a hall of mirrors with a different face in each reflection. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Later, Kestrel wished she had spoken then, that no time had been lost. She wished that she'd had the courage that very moment to tell Arin what she'd finally known to be true: that she loved him with the whole of her heart. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She blurted something that had nothing to do with anything. "Do you know how to make honeyed half-moons?"
"Do I…?" He lowered the map. "Kestrel, I hate to disappoint you, but I was never a cook."
"You know how to make tea."
He laughed. "You do realize that boiling water is within the capabilities of anybody?"
"Oh." Kestrel moved to leave, feeling foolish. What had possessed her to ask such a ridiculous question anyway?
"I mean, yes," Arin said. "Yes, I know how to make half-moons."
"Really?"
"Ah…no. But we can try. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin, who had set hooks into her heart and drawn her to him so that she wouldn't see anything but his eyes.
Arin was her enemy ~ Marie Rutkoski

Cheat propped his elbows on his knees and gazed up at Kestrel. He scrutinized her: the long, loosely clasped hands, the folds of her dress. Kestrel's clothes had mysteriously appeared in the suite's wardrobe, probably while she had slept, and she was glad. The dueling ensemble had served well enough, but wearing a dress fit for society made Kestrel feel ready for different kinds of battle.
"Where is Arin?" Cheat said.
"In the mountains."
"Doing what?"
"I don't know. I imagine that, since the Valorian reinforcements will come through the mountain pass, he is analyzing its values and drawbacks as a battleground."
Cheat gave her a gleeful smirk. "Does it bother you, being a traitor?"
"I don't see how I am."
"You just confirmed that the reinforcements will come through the pass. Thank you."
"It's hardly worth thanking me," she said. "Almost every useful ship in the empire has been sent east, which means there is no other way into the city. Anyone with brains could figure that out, which is why Arin is in the mountains, and you are here."
A flush began to build under Cheat's skin. He said, "My feet are dusty."
Kestrel had no idea how to respond to that.
"Wash them," he said.
"What?"
He took off his boots, stretched out his legs, and leaned back against the bench.
Kestrel, who had been quite still, became stone.
"It's Herrani custom for the lady of the house to wash the feet of special guests," said Cheat.< ~ Marie Rutkoski

She looked at the boy. He knew her weakness for storytelling. And it was, after all, only a story. Still, she wished he had chosen a happier one. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin hadn't fallen asleep on the deck of his strangely still ship, yet, it felt as if he'd been dreaming. As if dreams and memories and lies were the same thing. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Of course having a baby derails the writing process for some time. And I will be the first to say that I have essentially no social life, because there's just nothing left after being a mom, professor, and writer. I used to be big into rock climbing. No more. A lot falls by the wayside. ~ Marie Rutkoski

It's best to recognize the things one cannot change. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Gorgeous?" Ronan tried again. "Transcendent? Kestrel, the right adjective hasn't been invented to describe you. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Marry him," Arin said, "but be mine in secret. ~ Marie Rutkoski

How did you ever survive, little slave, with that mouth of yours? ~ Marie Rutkoski

If you don't wanna be my friend , you'll regret be my enemy !!
the winner's curse ~ Marie Rutkoski

As his people positioned themselves in and around the pass, Arin though that he might have misunderstood the Valorian addiction to war. He had assumed it was spurred by greed. By a savage sense of superiority. It had never occurred to him that Valorians also went to war because of love.
Arin loved those hours of waiting. The silent, brilliant tension, like scribbles of heat lightning. His city far below and behind him, his hand on a cannon's curve, ears open to the acoustics of the pass. He stared into it, and even though he smelled the reek of fear from men and women around him, he was caught in a kind of wonder.He felt so vibrant. As if his life was fresh, translucent, thin-skinned fruit. It could be sliced apart and he wouldn't care. Nothing felt like this. ~ Marie Rutkoski

A slow fear, heavy, like sadness ... which made her realize that her fear was a kind of sadness, because she couldn't be better than her fear. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She played almost every free hour, now that she could. Music made her feel as if she were holding a lamp that cast a halo of light around her, and while she knew there were people and responsibilities in the darkness beyond it, she couldn't see them. The flame of what she felt when she played made her deliciously blind.
Until the day she found something waiting for her in the music room. A small, ivory tile was balanced on the exact middle key of the piano. The Bite and Sting piece had been set facedown. The blank side looked up.
It searched her like a question…or an invitation. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin wanted to insist that if a secret concerned Kestrel, it concerned the emperor, and that concerned Herran. This was why he asked for Deliah's help. It was for his country. Only for that.
It was not out of worry for Kestrel.
Not out of love.
Not because the description of that dress made Arin try to imagine every possible thing that had been done to Kestrel while she wore it, or everything she might have tried to do.
In the end, none of this was easy for him to say. He was silent as he made to leave Deliah's workshop.
"She cares for you," Deliah said suddenly. "I know that she does."
It was so blatantly untrue that it almost seemed like a cruel joke.
Arin laughed. ~ Marie Rutkoski

These will do well for our march on the Metrea estate," he said.
Arin frowned. "What?"
"Cheat's sending us to capture the Metrea estate."
Arin lost his patience. "That's idiotic. Metrea grows olives. Do you want to live on olives during a siege?"
"Er…no."
"Then go to Ethyra, where they will have stores of grain, plus livestock."
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"Should I ask Cheat first?"
"No." Arin rubbed his brow, deeply tired of treading so cautiously around Cheat. "Just go. ~ Marie Rutkoski

The general's daughter? We'd be fools not to. You talk about her as if she's made of spun glass. Know what I see? Steel. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin glanced up as she approached. One tree shadowed the knoll, a laran tree, leaves broad and glossy. Their shadows dappled Arin's face, made it a patchwork of sun and dark. It was hard to read his expression. She noticed for the first time the way he kept the scarred side of his face out of her line of sight. Or rather, what she noticed for the first time was how common this habit was for him in her presence--and what that meant.
She stepped deliberately around him and sat so that he had to face her fully or shift into an awkward, neck-craned position.
He faced her. His brow lifted, not so much in amusement as in his awareness of being studied and translated.
"Just a habit," he said, knowing what she'd seen.
"You have that habit only with me."
He didn't deny it.
"Your scar doesn't matter to me, Arin."
His expression turned sardonic and interior, as if he were listening to an unheard voice.
She groped for the right words, worried that she'd get this wrong. She remembered mocking him in the music room of the imperial palace (I wonder what you believe could compel me to go to such epic lengths for your sake. Is it your charm? Your breeding? Not your looks, surely.).
"It matters because it hurts you," she said. "It doesn't change how I see you. You're beautiful. You always have been to me." Even when she hadn't realized it, even in the market nearly a year ago. Then later, when she understood his beauty. Again, when she saw his face ~ Marie Rutkoski

The god of lies must love you, you see things so clearly. ~ Marie Rutkoski

It wasn't until she had almost reached its lights that she heard another rider in the hills behind her.
Ice slid down Kestrel's spine. Fear, that the rider was Arin.
Fear, at her sudden hope that it was.
She pulled Javelin to a stop and swung to the ground. Better to go on foot through the narrow streets to the harbor. Stealth was more important now than speed.
Beating hooves echoed in the hills. Closer.
She hugged Javelin hard around the neck, then pushed him away while she still could bear to do it. She slapped his rump in an order to head home. Whether he'd go to her villa or Arin's, she couldn't say. But he left, and might draw the other rider after him if she was indeed being pursued.
She slipped into the city shadows.
And it was magic. It was as if the Herrani gods had turned on their own people. No one noticed Kestrel skulking along walls or heard her cracking the thin ice of a puddle. No late-night wanderer looked in her face and saw a Valorian. No one saw the general's daughter. Kestrel made it to the harbor, down to the docks.
Where Arin waited.
His breath heaved white clouds into the air. His hair was black with sweat. It hadn't mattered that Kestrel had been ahead of him on the horse path. Arin had been able to run openly through the city while she had crept through alleys.
Their eyes met, and Kestrel felt utterly defenseless.
But she had a weapon. He didn't, not that she could see. Her hand instinctively fell ~ Marie Rutkoski

Kestrel, what are you doing?"
She had forgotten what she wore. "Nothing."
He lifted his dark brows.
"It was a dare," she said. "A senator's daughter dared me to sneak out of the palace without an escort."
"Try harder, Kestrel."
She muttered, "I was tired of being closed up inside the palace."
"That I believe. But I doubt it's the whole truth."
Arin's eyes were narrow, inspecting her. His hand slid along the railing as he came close. He reached for the collar of the sailor's coat. He drew it away from her neck.
The world went luscious, and slow, and still.
He bowed his head. Stitches scratched against her cheek. Arin buried his face in the hollow between her neck and the coat collar and breathed in. Warmth flooded her.
Kestrel imagined: his mouth parting against her skin. The teeth of his smile. And she imagined more, she saw what she would do, how she would forget herself, how everything would slip and unloop, like rich ribbon off its spool. The dream of this held her. She couldn't move.
She felt him feel how she didn't move. Arin hesitated. He lifted his head and looked down at her. The blacks of his eyes were huge. ~ Marie Rutkoski

So you tell me what would make a good, quiet girl get herself in trouble, especially when she had so much to lose. Tell me. ~ Marie Rutkoski

She entered Roshar's tent. "I need your help." Blinking, he propped himself up on his bed. He said groggily, "And I need a real door. With a lock. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Her blood felt laced with black powder. How could she have forgotten what it was like to burn on a fuse before him? ~ Marie Rutkoski

The man wrote his message.
Are you really a boy, like Xash says? the god asked Arin. You've been mine for twenty years. I raised you.
The Valorian signed the scrap of paper.
Cared for you.
The message was rolled, sealed, and pushed into a tiny leather tube.
Watched over you when you thought you were alone.
The captain tied the tube to a hawk's leg. The bird was too large to be a kestrel. It didn't have a kestrel's markings. It cocked its head, turning its glass-bead eyes on Arin.
No, not a boy. A man made in my image ... one who knows he can't afford to be seen as weak.
The hawk launched into the sky.
You're mine, Arin. You know what you must do.
Arin cut the Valorian's throat. ~ Marie Rutkoski

The gods used to walk among us.
True, said death.
Why did you leave?
Ah, sweet child, it was your people who left us. ~ Marie Rutkoski

The guard hit Kestrel across the face. "I said, what did you give him?"
You had a warrior's heart, even then.
Kestrel spat blood. "Nothing," she told the guard. She thought of her father, she thought of Arin. She told her final lie. "I gave him nothing. ~ Marie Rutkoski

He changed us both." She seemed to struggle for words. "I think of you, all that you lost, who you were, what you were forced to be, and might have been, and I - I have become this, this person, unable to - "
She shut her mouth.
"Kestrel," he said softly, "I love this person. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Where will you sleep?"
"Have no fear. Many a bed would welcome me. ~ Marie Rutkoski

How do I look in the dark?"
Startled, Arin glanced at him. The question had had no edges. It wasn't sleek, either. Its soft, uncertain shape suggested that Roshar truly wanted to know. In the fired red shadows, his limbs looked lax and his mutilated face met Arin's squarely. The heavy feeling that Arin carried - that specific sadness, nestled just below his collar bone, like a pendant - lessened. He said, "Like my friend."
Roshar didn't smile. When he spoke, his voice matched his expression, which was rare for him. Rarer still: his tone. Quiet and true. "You do, too. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Say what you want about me, about what happened between us, about the shape of the sun and the color of the grass and any other truths in this world you want to deny. Deny everything until the gods strike you down. But you can't say that I don't know you. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I remembered a numeric code. He could have been using counters to help him write in it."
"Or," said Roshar, "your father will read the note, see one code when he expects another, and will send someone to the station, where there's a dead body."
"If so," Arin said, "then we're no worse off than we were before."
"Oh yes, we are. The general will know the letter's a ploy, and will do the opposite of what we want. He'll ignore the main road. He'll take back roads through the forests where our guns would be of dubious use and we wouldn't have the advantage of height. You know this."
Arin shut his mouth, glancing uneasily at Kestrel. Yes. He had known this, as had she. She felt worse for his effort to make her mistake seem smaller. He knew its true size.
Roshar leaned back in his creaking chair. His eyes slid from Arin to Kestrel, black as lacquer, the green lines around them fresh. "Can you tell me anything more cheerful than all this? ~ Marie Rutkoski

Kestrel felt a slow, slight throb, a shimmer in the blood. She knew it well.
Her worst trait. Her best trait.
The desire to come out on top, to set her opponent under her thumb.
A streak of pride. Her mind ringed with hungry rows of foxlike teeth. ~ Marie Rutkoski

He tried to go over the plan with the captain, who interrupted him with a dismissive flick of the hand. "That's not a plan. That's simple piracy. You needn't teach me that."
Arin was taken aback. "Before the war, the Herrani were the best at sea. We gained wealth through sea trade. We weren't pirates."
The captain laughed and laughed. ~ Marie Rutkoski

The world went luscious, and slow, and still. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Once there was a seamstress who could weave fabric from feeling. She sewed gowns of delight: sheer, sparkling, sleek. She cut cloth out of ambition and ardor, idyll and industry. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Drink this," she told her friend.
Jess moaned.
"Do it," Kestrel said, "or you'll be sorry."
"What a lovely bedside manner you have," Sarsine said. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I hear you're going to the ball tonight."
Kestrel glanced in the mirror to see Arin standing behind her. Then she focused on her own shadowed eyes. "You're not allowed in here," Kestrel said. She didn't look again at him, but sensed him waiting. She realized that she was waiting, too--waiting for the will to send him away.
She sighed and continued to braid.
He said, "It's not a good idea for you to attend the ball."
"I hardly think you're in a position to advise me on what I should or shouldn't do." She glanced back at his reflection. His face frayed her already sheer nerves. The braid slipped from her fingers and unraveled. "What?" she snapped. "Does this amuse you?"
The corner of his mouth lifted, and Arin looked like himself, like the person she had grown to know since summer's end. "'Amuse' isn't the right word. ~ Marie Rutkoski

He shifted. She kept her back to him as she felt him move closer. The warmth of him slowly fitted along her spine. It was like sinking into a bath. His words brushed the back of her neck: "Just to keep you warm," he said, a question in his tone.
"You say that we're friends."
"Yes."
"Have we done this before?"
Another pause. "No."
Her shaking quieted to a shiver. She found that she'd moved even closer to him, had sealed herself against him. His heart beat fast against her back. He held her, and the weight of his arm made her feel more solid, more real, less ready to shatter into mirrorlike pieces. She calmed, relaxing into his warmth.
She still didn't sleep. Neither did he. She could feel his wakefulness. She thought, fleetingly, that it was like him not to fall asleep before she did. She didn't know how she could believe this to be true. It was hard to reconcile with the one memory she had of him: his face in the market, across a distance. An enemy's mouth, enemy's eyes.
But he was here, he had saved her, and he'd asked nothing of her except to remember, and had stopped asking even for that. She knew his scent. Knew that she liked it. His hand reached to touch the pulse in her neck. He kept his fingers there, slightly too firm to be gentle, as if he doubted she was alive.
Had they really never shared a bed? No. She would remember that. Wouldn't she? ~ Marie Rutkoski

He hadn't been blessed by the god of death.
Arin was the god. ~ Marie Rutkoski

In the silence, Kestrel heard a falling leaf scratch the glass of the window, opened out toward the dimming sky. It was warm, but summer was almost over.
"Play your tiles," Arin said roughly.
Kestrel turned them over, taking no joy in the fact that she had surely won. She had four scorpions.
Arin flipped his. The sound of ivory clacking against the wooden table was unnaturally loud.
Four vipers.
"I win," he said, and swept the matches into his hand.
Kestrel stared at the tiles, feeling a numbness creep along her limbs. "Well," she said. She cleared her throat. "Well played."
He gave her a humorless smile. "I did warn you."
"Yes. You did."
He stood. "I think I'll take my leave while I have the advantage."
"Until next time." Kestrel realized she had offered him her hand. He looked at it, then took it in his own. She felt the numbness ebb, only to be replaced by a different kind of surprise.
He dropped her hand. "I have things to do."
"Like what?" She tried for a lighthearted tone.
He answered in kind. "Like contemplate what I am going to do with my sudden windfall of matches." He widened his eyes in pretend glee, and Kestrel smiled.
"I'll walk you out," she said.
"Do you think I will lose my way? Or steal something as I go?"
She felt her expression turn haughty. "I am leaving the villa anyway," she said, though she had had no such plans until the words left her mouth.
They walked in silence thr ~ Marie Rutkoski

He did not want her to know. He did not want her to see. But: Look at me, he found himself thinking furiously at her. Look at me. She lifted her eyes, and did. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin took the basket from her. "Coming or going?"
"I've a errand here, and won't be home until late."
"Shall I guess what brings you to town?"
"You can try."
He peeked in the basket. Bread, still warm from the oven. A bottle of liquor. Long, flat, pieces of wood. Rolls of gauze. "A picnic ... with a wounded soldier? Sarsine," he teased, "is it true love? What's the wood for? Wait, don't tell me. I'm not sure I want to know."
She swatted him. "The cartwright's oldest daughter has a broken arm. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Arin thought of Cheat, Tensen, Kestrel. He wondered if some part of him was drawn to lies. What was it that made him so easy to deceive? ~ Marie Rutkoski

She didn't want him to speak, she was suddenly not even sure he *meant* to speak. It occurred to her, strangely, that he might sing.
"Don't." Her command was sharp.
He didn't ~ Marie Rutkoski

I want to speak with her alone," Cheat told Sarsine.
She said, "Arin--"
"--is not the leader of the Herrani. I am."
"We'll see how long that lasts," said Kestrel, then bit her lip. He saw her do it, and they both knew what it meant.
A mistake. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Go away, little ghost. Go haunt someone else. ~ Marie Rutkoski

It took some time before Arin realized he was humming a dark tune. For once, he didn't stop himself. The pressure of song was too strong, the need for distraction too great. Then he found that the music caged behind his closed teeth was the melody Kestrel had played for him months ago. He felt the sensation of it, low and alive, on his mouth.
For a moment, he imagined it wasn't the melody that touched his lips, but Kestrel.
The thought stopped his breath, and the music, too. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I don't mind being a moth. I would probably start eating silk if it meant that I could fly. ~ Marie Rutkoski

He knew the law of such things: people in brightly lit places cannot see into the dark. ~ Marie Rutkoski

When she saw the opportunity to flee, she would take it. She would bring the hounds of the empire howling down on this city. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Something terrible was clawing up her throat.
"I was lucky," Arin said. "I had you. And a hard head. And the grace of my god."
"Damn>/i> your god."
Arin caught her arm above the elbow. She turned to face him. All trace of humor had left his face. His eyes were wide, urgent. "Don't say that."
"Why not? I can say anything. Anything except what really matters."
"Kestrel, take it back. You'll offend him."
"Your god risks you."
"He protects me."
"You're his plaything."
"You're wrong. He loves me."
Saying those words made him look so alone. He reminded her of sails curved by the wind, full and yet empty at the same time. She found that she was jealous of his god. The sudden jealousy held her so hard in its grip that she couldn't breathe.
"It's true," Arin insisted.
She saw then that she had hurt him, that his god's love was all the more precious to him because of his fear that he would find it nowhere else. Her anger rinsed away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I ask your pardon. His, too. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I can go with you into the mountains," she said. "I can search, too."
His smile was dry. "You're not the one who spent hours as a child poring over botany books, wondering why one species of tree had four-fingered leaves, and another, six."
The swaying of the carriage made Kestrel drowsy. Hours of lost sleep weighted her eyelids. She struggled to keep them open. Outside the window, dusk had given in to the night.
"You have less than three days," she murmured.
"What?"
"Before the reinforcements arrive."
When he said nothing, Kestrel voiced what he must be thinking. "I suppose it's not the time for you to be hunting in the mountains for a plant."
"I promised I would go. So I will. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I do admire your love for a gamble." He took her cup and drank from it as well. "I was simply thinking out loud earlier. There's no harm in thinking."
"I have my own thoughts. I am wondering why my father ever respected you. ~ Marie Rutkoski

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

Your promises are worth nothing. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Her love for him closed within her like a fist. Nervous, bruised. She despised it. Wasn't it the love of a beaten animal, slinking back to its master? Yet here was the truth: she missed her father. ~ Marie Rutkoski

Sometimes, Arin almost understood what Kestrel had done. Even now, as he felt the drift of the boat and didn't fight its pull, Arin remembered the yearning in Kestrel's face whatever she'd mentioned her father. Like a homesickness. Arin had wanted to shake it out of her. Especially during those early months when she had owned him. He had wanted to force her to see her father for what he was. He had wanted her to acknowledge what she was, how she was wrong, how she shouldn't long for her father's love. It was soacked in blood. Didn't she see that? How could she not?

Once, he'd hated her for it. Then it had somehow touched him. He knew it himself. He, too, wanted what he shouldn't. He, too, felt the heart chooses its own home and refuses reason. Not here, he'd tried to say. Not this. Not mine. Never. But he had felt the same sickness.

In retrospect, Kestrel's role in the taking of the eastern plains was predictable. Sometimes he damned her for currying favor with the emperor, or blamed her playing war like a game just because she could. Yet he thought he knew the truth of her reasons. She'd done it for her father. It almost made sense. At least, it did when he was near sleep and his mind was quiet, and it was harder to help what entered. Right before sleep, he came close to understanding. But he was awake now. ~ Marie Rutkoski

The general's voice came low, so that his words were only for him and his daughter. "Kestrel," he said, "you have broken my heart. ~ Marie Rutkoski

If you won't be my friend, you'll regret being my enemy. ~ Marie Rutkoski

I loved to sing. Before the war, I worried that gift would leave me, the way it often does with boys. We grow, we change, our voices break. It doesn't matter how well you sing when you're nine years old, you know. Not when you're a boy. When the change comes you just have to hope for the best…that your voice settles into something you can love again. My voice broke two years after the invasion. Gods, how I squeaked. And when my voice finally settled, it seemed like a cruel joke. It was too good. I hardly knew what to do with it. I felt so grateful to have this gift…and so angry, for it to mean so little. And now…" He shrugged, a self-deprecating gesture. "Well, I know I'm rusty."
"No," Kestrel said. "You're not. Your voice is beautiful."
The silence after that was soft. ~ Marie Rutkoski

The auctioneer turned to face her. He raised his knife again. Kestrel had just enough time to remember the sound of a hammer against anvil, to think of all the weapons Arin had forged, and to realize that if he had wanted to make more on the side it wouldn't have been heard.
The auctioneer advanced on her.
Not hard at all.
"No," said Arin. "She's mine."
The man paused. "What?"
Arin strolled toward them, stepping in the housekeeper's blood. He stood next to the auctioneer, his stance loose and careless. "She's mine. My prize. Payment for services rendered. A spoil of war." Arin shrugged. "Call her what you like. Call her my slave."
Shame poured into Kestrel, as poisonous as anything her friends must have drunk at the ball.
Slowly, the auctioneer said, "I'm a little worried about you, Arin. I think you've lost clarity on the situation."
"Is there something wrong with treating her the way she treated me?"
"No, but--"
"The Valorian army will return. She's the general's daughter. She's too valuable to waste."
The auctioneer sheathed his knife, but Kestrel couldn't sheathe her dread. This sudden alternative to death didn't seem like a better one.
"Just remember what happened to your parents," the auctioneer told Arin. "Remember what Valorian soldiers did to your sister."
Arin's gaze cut to Kestrel. "I do."
"Really? Where were you during the assault on the estate? I expected to find my second-in-command here. Inst ~ Marie Rutkoski

He had sleepless eyes, his mouth a little swollen, the deeply tanned skin somehow burnished. Kestrel thought that she, too, must look like this: polished by desire, the way a river stone holds a luster from having been made so smooth. ~ Marie Rutkoski

As he spoke, it occurred to her that maybe he, too, felt like two people, that maybe everybody does, and that it's not a question of whether one's damaged, but of how easily or not that damage is seen. ~ Marie Rutkoski