“Mistress Brightmist! What a wondrous day, it it not?” It was Mustafier, the merchant from the arena… “Yes, Mustafier, exquisitely splendiferous,” I agreed. He cackled, happy that I remembered his flowery words.

Death paced the room, watching me. Impatient. He walked to the end of my bed and stared, his bony fingers curling around the bedpost, his stare cutting through me, as if he knew what I was thinking. Blink last. Make it one more day. My shoulders shivered with his chill. I had always thought those were my words, but they were his. They had been his all along. I remembered the fear that gripped me that long-ago night. His whisper. His challenge for to me to stay alive.

But I choose the sides I play on, and no one tells me how high to jump-at least not for long.

Kaden winced. "Just having a little fun." A warm smile filled his eyes, and no one's eyes smiled quite like the Keep's. Anything good in his life he had fought and scratched for, and his joy came from a deep place of understanding the lack of it.

The queen once told me there were a hundred ways to fall in love. Maybe there were a hundred ways to find and give forgiveness too. I think I had already found a few of them.

“I have a surprise for you when we get home.” "Jase Ballenger, every day with you is a surprise." He peeked over my shoulder. "Getting it all down?" "Every word.” "Good," he whispered. "We have a lot of shelves to fill." I closed the book, stuffed it in my saddlebag, and we left to go home. Who will write our story, Jase? We will, Kazi. You and I will write our own story. And side by side, every day, that is what we do.

Mavbe I finally understood that history wasn't just written on walls and in books but made in a thousand daily decisions, and some of them went wrong, some went right, and some decisions just had to be made because time was running out. Waiting for someone else to write your history was no way to live. Sometimes it was only a certain way to die.

Do not pass a rose without stopping to smell it. It is a gift that may not always be there.

"Gutra hezo?" Wren said. "Mije's used to hearing it from Kazi. I thought-“ I didn't finish. I didn’t know what I thought except that I wanted to hear Kazi's voice, even if it was me saying her words. I wanted to repeat and remember every word that had ever passed between us, to keep it all alive.

They thought themselves only a step lower than the Gods, proud in their power over heaven and earth. They grew strong in their knowledge but weak in their wisdom, Craving more and still more power, cushing the defenseless.

“What about us, Jase? Will someone write down our story?" What do you mean?" "Like the hundreds that are on the vault's walls, and the ones in your bookcases. An amused smile pulled at his mouth, as if it hadn't occurred to him and he was intrigued by the thought. "We will, Kazi. You and I. We'll write our own story. And it will take a thousand volumes. We have a lifetime ahead of us."