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464 pages, Paperback
First published August 9, 2016
Mia Corvere used to be the daughter of a respectable family but all that changes when her father is strung up for leading a rebellion.![]()
The brighter the light, the deeper the shadow.
'Never Flinch.' A cold whisper in her ear. 'Never fear. And never, ever forget.'Just ten years old, Mia watches her father dance at the end of a rope and silently swears revenge upon them all.
The girl nodded slowly.
Exhaled the hope inside.
You'll be a rumor. A whisper. The thought that wakes the bastards of this world sweating in the nevernight. The last thing you will ever be, girl, is someone's hero.Wow. This one was addicting!
Beauty you're born with, but brains you earn.There were areas where I was surprised by the violence but the main character had such a cute-yet-deadly take on things that the book was not overbearingly dark.
"The three suns hanging on a chain about his throat tried to gleam, but the clouds in the crying sky told them no."

"Mia sighed. Took her temper by the earlobe and pulled it to heel."
The girl felt the words in her chest. In the deepest, darkest place, where the hope children breathe and adults mourn withered and fell away, floating like ashes on the wind.
**
If her face were a puzzle, most would put it back in the box, unfinished.
**
Something had followed her from that place. The place above the music where her father died. Something hungry. A blind, grub consciousness, dreaming of shoulders crowned with translucent wings. And she, who would gift them.






“The last thing you will ever be in this world, girl, is someone’s hero. But you will be a girl heroes fear.”
“The brighter the light, the deeper the shadows”

“The books we love, they love us back. And just as we mark our places in the pages, those pages leave their marks on us. I can see it in you, sure as I see it in me. You’re a daughter of words. A girl with a story to tell.”
THE NEVERNIGHT CHRONICLE is a different beast. The protagonist is a sixteen year old girl. Does that automatically make it YA? My editors say “Definitely not, and who the hell let you out of your cage? Get back to work”.
These books are about an assassin. They are, as you may expect, somewhat violent as a result. They also have sex scenes (and now I have to contemplate the fact that my mother is going to read them *shudders*). I’d rate them MA (or NA if you prefer) and describe them as “crossover books”. But they’ll be found in the adult Fantasy section of your bookstore.
People often shit themselves when they die.
Their muscles slack and their souls flutter free and everything else just…slips out. For all their audience’s love of death, the playwrights seldom mention it. When the hero breathes his last in the heroine’s arms, they call no attention to the stain leaking across his tights, or how the stink makes her eyes water as she leans in for her farewell kiss.
I mention this by way of warning, O, my gentlefriends, that your narrator shares no such restraint.
She’s dead herself, now—words both the wicked and the just would give an eyeteeth smile to hear. A republic in ashes behind her. A city of bridges and bones laid at the bottom of the sea by her hand. And yet I’m sure she’d still find a way to kill me if she knew I put these words to paper. Open me up and leave me for the hungry Dark. But I think someone should at least try to separate her from the lies told about her. Through her. By her.
Someone who knew her true.
A girl some called Pale Daughter. Or Kingmaker. Or Crow. But most often, nothing at all. A killer of killers, whose tally of endings only the goddess and I truly know. And was she famous or infamous for it at the end? All this death? I confess I could never see the difference. But then, I’ve never seen things the way you have.
Never truly lived in the world you call your own.
Nor did she, really.
I think that’s why I loved her.
To the north, the Ribs rose hundreds of feet into the ruddy heavens, tiny windows staring out from apartments carved within the ancient bone. Canals ran out from the hollow Spine . . .










“This makes you who you are. She punched the slab of muscle above his heart. “This." She slapped the top of his head. "These.” The girl took hold of his hands not in front of him, staring into the boys eyes. “Slavemarks. Tattoos. Scars. What you look like doesn’t change who you are inside. They can give you a new face, but they can’t give you a new heart. No matter what they take from you, they can’t take that away unless you let them. That’s real strength, Tric. That’s real power.”
“Iron or glass? they'd ask.
She was neither.
She was steel.”
“Cock is just another word for ‘fool.’ But you call someone a cunt, well…” The girl smiled. “You’re implying a sense of malice there. An intent. Malevolent and self-aware. Don’t think I name Consul Scaeva a cunt to gift him insult. Cunts have brains, Don Tric. Cunts have teeth. Someone calls you a cunt, you take it as a compliment. As a sign that folk believe you’re not to be lightly fucked with.” A shrug. “I think they call that irony.”
“Beauty you're born with, but brains you earn.”




killers
Light and Darkness
“You'll be a rumour. A whisper. The thought that wakes the bastards of this world sweating in the nevernight. The last thing you will ever be in this world, girl, is someone's hero.
But you will be a girl heroes fear.”
“Never Flinch.
Never Fear.
And never, ever Forget.”
“When all is bood, blood is all.”

Buddy reading with he who does not appreciate the magnificence of Will Herondale.
“I appear to have misplaced the fucks I give for what you think.”



The girl felt the words in her chest. In the deepest, darkest place, where the hope children breathe and adults mourn withered and fell away, floating like ashes on the wind.
"Tric gave another half-hearted stab, but the beast had forgotten its quarry entirely, great eyes rolling as it flipped over and over, dragging its bulk back below the sand, howling like a dog who's just returned home from a hard turn's work to find another hound in his kennel, smoking his cigarillos and in bed with his wife."

“The brighter the light, the deeper the shadows”

"The horizon was crusted like a beggar's lips, scoured by winds laden with voices just beyond hearing. The second sun kissing the horizon was usually the sign for Itreya's brutal winters to begin, but out there, the heat was still blistering."
"The boy was beautiful. Caramel-smooth skin, honeydew-sweet smile. Black curls on the right side of unruly. Strong hands and hard muscle and his eyes, O, Daughters, his eyes. Five thousand fathoms deep. Pulling you in to laugh even as he drowned you."
“If her face were a puzzle, most would put it back in the box, unfinished.”
“Everyone’s immortal until they’re not.”
“Not all that is dead truly dies.”

“You’ll be a rumor. A whisper. The thought that wakes the bastards of this world sweating in the nevernight. The last thing you will ever be, girl, is someone’s hero.”

╰⊰✿Favorite of 2016✿⊱╮
“You’ve got the look of a girl who’s no stranger to the page. I can tell. You’ve got words in your soul.”
“Words in my soul?” Mia scoffed. “’Burn After Reading’?”
“Listen girl,” Aelius sniffed. “The books we love, they love us back. And just as we mark our places in the pages, those pages leave their marks on us. I can see it in you, sure as I see it in me. You’re a daughter of words. A girl with a story to tell.”
ஓ What I loved in this book ஓ
“Cock is just another word for 'fool.' But you call someone a cunt, well..." The girl smiled. "You're implying a sense of malice there. An intent. Malevolent and self-aware. Don't think I name Consul Scaeva a cunt to gift him insult. Cunts have brains, Don Tric. Cunts have teeth. Someone calls you a cunt, you take it as a compliment. As a sign that folks believe you're not to be lightly fucked with.”
"That bastard Solis," Tric hissed. "I wanted to gut him for what he did. Gave it a roll, but he knocked me flat on my arse and kicked me senseless."
Mia looked over the new bruises on Tric's face, shook her head. "My brave centurion. Riding in on his charger to save his poor damsel? Hold me, brave sir. I fear I shall swoon."
*Scapdogs are a voracious carnivore of the Liisian continent, resembling a fat, hairless canine with piggy eyes and a mouthful of razors. The scabdog is an astonishingly vicious close-quarter combatant, but lacks the endurance to chase game over long distances. They frequently feed on carrion, but have also developed a peculiar method of “hunting.”
The creature will maim itself superficially, chewing at its haunches until it bleeds. The scabdog will them make a show of being wounded, limping and bleeding until spotted by a carrion eater, such as a vulture, jackal, or another scabdog. The beast will then collapse, feighning death. This subterfuge can take hours, sometimes even turns.
The beasts are consummate actors, even going so far as to remain still while another carnivore takes a cautious bite…..