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216 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 15, 2023
Halfmortal! They cried, roaring for Hadrian— Hadrian, who was alive, who had escaped that final hell. Halfmortal! Halfmortal!
“Her eyes swam, brimming with tears that could not be allowed to fall. There was no time for grief, no space for pain. There was still a battle to fight, a war to wage, a blow to strike against the enemy.”
“They’re machines, too, Albedo told herself. But not in the way she was. They were men—had been men—but they were part of a system, pieces of the mechanism that had made her, of the world that had made her. The world that should not exist.”
“There was beauty in his world— such beauty, and sadness, too. Great climbing vines had choked the once proud tower of the enemy and torn it down, and the silence! The terrible silence of the world! He was nameless and alone— the last, perhaps, of all his kind. The network he remembered inhabiting, sharing with his brothers… the network that had inhabited him, that he served in his war with the enemy . . . that network was gone, and a thousand years of solitude had passed and brought him to himself.”
“The universe is so much older than we like to believe, older perhaps than we can believe. What you realized— whether you knew it or not— is that the Cielcin are not the only race older than our own.”
“History did not come to life, did not sail out of the dark between the stars and menace her sleeping world. History was for books, for holographs and children. Not for the light of day.”
“Perhaps that was all. He had come so far from home, to a half-life beyond the death that took his heart and whole world. He was a dead man, had been a long time, and so death had lost its sting. Better to die setting the world to rights—or a part of it, only—than to live on like some walking shadow. Far better. His second life had been a gift, and if all he did with it was find a way to give it back, maybe that was right. They were hard worlds, all of them, and broken. But a man needn’t be broken himself, not where it counted.”
“It was justice. My justice. And I have paid for it… All of Jadd is my prison, girl. Our prison. Yours and mine.”
“To defeat the enemy without violence is the highest art,” Hydarnes said, having turned to study the relief carvings that showed Katanes the Great fighting seven men. Inscriptions in the flowing Jaddian captioned that image, words placed near the faces of Katanes and his companions to suggest a dialogue. The pen is not mightier than the sword, as weak men claim, said the icon of the great prince, seeming to give the lie to Hydarnes’s words. It is only another sword. So too is the tongue only another sword.