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406 pages, Paperback
First published October 15, 2015
“What else is there to hope for with any art? To capture not just truth but a truth worthy of display, one that provides comfort, joy, or understanding, and moves the heart or makes it pause.”
“Hadrian had never witnessed Royce laughing in good humor. When he laughed, babies cried.”
“But everyone believes in something, you know? And what we choose to believe in says a lot—not only about the kind of people we are, but about the kind of people we want to be, and the kind of world we want to live in.”
“I just never noticed how little of me existed before. I was a shadow without a person.”
“Believing the worst of people, of the world in general, was a trap too easy to fall into. Hadrian had fought beside soldiers who'd developed similar views. Such men saw evil and virtue as concepts of naïveté. In their minds, there was no such thing as murder, a killing was just something you did when circumstances warranted.
A terrible way to live. What good is a world - what is the point of living - if generosity and kindness are myths?”
“We are more than the bodies we inhabit… They're little more than clothes, and yet we judge so much by them.”
“Many important events in history occurred in less-than-ideal fashion but were corrected in recollection.”
“Usually to make something truly great, you need to start from scratch, Royce remembered him saying. You need to break everything down, strip away the impurities, and it takes great heat to do that, but once you do, then the building can start. The result can seem miraculous, but the process—the process is always a bitch.”
“If anyone had asked Royce Melborn what he hated most at that moment, he would’ve said dogs. Dogs and dwarves topped his list, both equally despised for having so much in common—each was short, vicious, and inexcusably hairy.”
“So you have been paying attention."
"I'm not as stupid as you think I am."
"You have no idea how stupid I think you are, and honestly, we don't have time for that conversation."
Hadrian scowled.”
“We are more than the bodies we inhabit. They're little more than clothes, and yet we judge so much by them.”

“We don’t need to kill him.” […]
“Can I say something?” the guard asked.
“No,” Royce snapped.
“Yes,” Hadrian replied.
“I have a wife.” The man‘s voice shook.
“Man‘s got a wife.” Hadrian nodded sympathetically while still holding the blade against the guard‘s neck.
“Kids too – three of ‘em.”
“Maribor‘s beard, he‘s got three kids,” Hadrian said with a decisive tone and drew back his sword.
The guard let out a breath. Somehow, he and Hadrian both assumed that the ability to reproduce had some relevance in this situation. It didn’t.
“And I’ve got a horse”
“Let me introduce myself. I’m the one you don’t want to know.”
“To everyone else he was a solid wall fifty feet high with razor-sharp spikes on the top and a moat at its base; to Gwen he was a curtainless window with a broken latch.”
"A good assassin is like a good tailor - everything is fit to order. - Royce
Hadrian frowned. Getting back to a sitting position, he let his head rest on the wall behind him. "Why is it you always find your sense of humor when we're about to die?" Royce shrugged. "I suppose because that's when life is at it's most absurd."



“Churches don’t kill people,” Hadrian told her. “They burn incense, collect tithes, and mutter words in forgotten languages—they don’t put out contracts on high-ranking nobles.”
Scarlett and Royce exchanged glances, then both shook their heads.
Royce hooked a thumb in Hadrian’s direction. “See what I have to put up with?”
“Adorable,” Scarlett said.
“I wonder who your parents are,” she said, leaving Royce baffled.
“What?”
“Your parents—who are they?”
“Hatred and disillusionment, how about you?”
She smiled at him, the same unperturbed grin, as if he were great fun.
“You know,” Royce said, “most young ladies would be terrified to find someone like me in their room.”
“You know, most men would be terrified to be caught uninvited in the bedroom of a countess, but then…” She took a slow step forward. “You’re not a man, are you?”
He’d would never admit it, not to Hadrian, and certainly not to Gwen—didn’t even like thinking it to himself—but somehow Gwen had become his fifth thing. To survive, Royce had only ever required four things: air, food, water, and sleep. He was less bothered by heat and cold than others and could live in a forest or field if need be. But those other four things were absolutes.
Reluctantly, he had discovered Gwen had become the fifth. He could last longer without her than any of the others, but if too much time past, he felt the effects. Sick wasn’t the right word; empty was closer, but even it didn’t fit. Thin. He nodded to himself at the thought. That was it. He felt translucent, as if less of him existed when she wasn’t there.
I just never noticed how little of me existed before; I was a shadow without a person.
He didn’t know when it had happened or how he’d let it happen, but somehow when he was without her he felt less than whole. Gwen had stolen part of him and—No, she hasn’t taken anything. She’s given me something I’ve never had, and now I can’t live without it.
This book is entirely dedicated to my wife, Robin Sullivan.
Some have asked how it is I write such strong women without resorting to putting swords in their hands. It is because of her.
She is Arista
She is Thrace
She is Modina
She is Amilia
And she is my Gwen.
This series has been a tribute to her.
This is your book, Robin.
“We are more than the bodies we inhabit,” Fawkes said. “They’re little more than clothes, and yet we judge so much by them.”
“Ignorance isn’t prejudiced about who it afflicts,” Royce replied.”