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416 pages, Paperback
First published April 6, 2017



We will see each other again, Denizen Hardwick.
Denizen had assumed that was the kind of thing magical glowing girls said all the time, to promote an air of mystery. He hadn't realized it was something she was going to go and organize.
He'd read enough fantasy books to know that diplomacy didn't mean honesty and conversation. It meant fancy dinners, watching betrayal flash behind people's eyes, and not trusting Grand Viziers.
It was an occupational hazard of being a bookworm. You stopped thinking in terms of reality and started thinking of nick-of-time rescues and the power of a dramatic speech. It couldn't be over because it shouldn't be over.
Mercy gave a passable approximation of Frown No. 12---Here Is Some Sympathy I Am Not Sure You Deserve.
Jack shrugged. "There's no point to revenge. You either don't get it, in which case the want grows until it collapses your world around you, or you do get it. And then you have it. Great. Show me something you can build from revenge that you can't build from acceptance."
I want a form, Denizen thought. I want everyone to have a form, and you have to fill out your intentions and list why you're doing what you're doing. And you're not allowed to lie.
He'd feel like a right idiot if all this was happening and he died from smoke inhalation.
Denizen didn't think he was claustrophobic, though he had avoided small spaces up until now precisely because he didn't want to find out. He had the sneaking suspicion he was home to a whole plethora of phobias he hadn't discovered, simply because he hadn't been exposed to them yet.
She gave Denizen a half-smile. "Hardwicks aren't great with emotion. We're our own worst enemies, really." She paused. "Which, considering our vocation, is actually rather impressive."