R.L. LaFevers quotes:

I have found it is surprisingly difficult to remain sad when a cat is doing its level best to sandpaper one's cheeks.

He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.

I stare at him coldly. "I do not care for needlework." I pause. "Unless it involves the base of the skull.

If you are not careful, soon you will have men locking themselves in dungeons so that you can rescue them.

Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.

He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.

I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life...

I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.

... then he offers me his arm. As I take it, I wonder what folly decreed that women cannot walk unassisted.

... true faith never comes without anguish.

... while I am Death's daughter and walk in His dark shadow, surely the darkness can give way to light sometimes.

A kiss for luck, demoiselle?" It is a magnificent, lusty kiss and I feel nothing but deep regret that it may be his last. Just before he pulls away, he whispers in my ear. "Duval said to give you that should I get a chance. It is from him.

And just as love has two sides, so too does Death. While Ismae will serve as His mercy, I will not, for that is not how He fashioned me. Every death I have witnessed, every horror I have endured, has forged me to be who I am -- Death's justice.

And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.

Are men truly such idiots that they cannot resist two orbs of flesh?

Do you need anything before I go? I want you to return my wits, I long to say.

Every time he glances at me I feel it just as surely as if he has reached out and run his finger along my soul. It is all I can do not to smile at the sheer wonder of it.

For all that I have kissed before, I have never felt anything like this. It is as if I have swallowed a tiny piece of the sun, its warmth and light reaching into every corner of my soul and chasing away the shadows. I surrender to that kiss - surrender to the strength and the courage and the sheer goodness of the man.

God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.

Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.

Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.

He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.

His divine spark lives within me, a presence that will never leave. And I am but one of many tools He has at His disposal. If I cannot act - if I refuse to act - that is a choice I am allowed to make. He has given me life, and all I must do to serve Him is to live. Fully and with my whole heart. With this knowledge comes a true understanding of all the gifts He has given me.

I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.

I am sorry,' he whispers. 'I am sorry I treated you so ill. I thought only to protect Duval.' 'It was not I who was poisoning him,' I say. 'No, but you had stolen his heart and I was afraid you would rip it from his chest when you left.

I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.

I blew that clay pigeon to smithereens. I don't know why Mum got so upset. According to Uncle Andrew she's a crack shot herself. But she says I'm too young. What I'd like to know is how old does a person have to be before they get to do all the fun stuff?

I cannot tell her I have been moping over a broken heart when I have worked so hard to convince her I have no heart at all.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.

I never skulk, and lurk only sometimes.

I pause at the door, wishing I could find a corner and sleep until my head clears, but the sailor said the abbess is expecting me, and while I do not know much about abbesses, I suspect they are not fond of waiting.

I will sit here but an hour or two, then leave." I yawn. "So very long as that?" When he answers, there is a wry note in his voice. "I do have my reputation to protect.

If he is smart, he will run. He is not.

In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.

It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.

It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.

It is this kindness of his that unsettles me most. I can dodge a blow or block a knife. I am impervious to poison and know a dozen ways to escape a chokehold or garrote wire. But kindness? I do not know how to defend against that.

Not all men are the same, you know. With someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming." Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.

One heart cannot serve two masters.

People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.

Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.

So.... You are well equipped for our service.' 'Which is?' 'We kill people.

Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.

The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.

The maids in my village talked of falling in love with a man at first sight. That has always seemed naught but foolishness to me. Until I enter Sister Serafina's workshop. It is unlike anything I have ever seen, full of strange sights and smells, and I tumble headlong into love.

The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.

There is no shame in scars, Ismae.

This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.

Tis Vanth's cage. You can just move it out of the way." "I already have," he grumbles. "With my shin.

Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.

When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.

When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death's handmaidens.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours....

Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?

You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.

You come to us well tempered, my child, and it is not in my nature to be sorry for it. It is a well tempered blade that is the strongest.

You love me?' 'Yes, you great lummox. I love you.' He lets out a sigh. 'Sweet Camulos! It's about time.

You would throw away all that we have given you for a man's love?" "Not a man's love," I say softly. "But Duval's. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.