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664 pages, Paperback
First published December 1, 2020
“Wars are fought in the mind and heart just as much as on battlefields.”
‘So you see me as a tool?’ The mage tapped his sword hilt. ‘In war, tools are called weapons, Mithrid.’
“Loki flashed a smile and sighed dramatically. ‘What is a dog to a king, Malvus Barkhart?’ Malvus narrowed his eyes. ‘Nothing.’ ‘Then what is a king to a god?’ Loki answered.”
'The price of dallying with magick and disobeying the emperor's decree is death,' intoned the mage who stood alone upon that wretched stage with the condemned. His words lacked grandeur or ceremony. They wore the blunt edge of rehearsal. Bored, the mage sounded, and in that sense, callous, as were the shrieks of the rusted lever, the cruel clatter of the trapdoor, and the gap of silence before the woman met the scant limits of the noose with a jerk.At first I made allowances; an opening has a lot of leeway to be evocative, to conjure a mood, to provide essence for the reader to sink into the book's world. But it went on like this, and on, and on and it was just too much.
‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Mithrid!’ he snapped.Mic drop! Good one Mithr—
Mithrid lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll be as wise as you.’
She dropped that comment like a vase.. . . yeah . . . we know. She just gave him a searing retort. The dialogue was highly effective without any furth—
It shattered between them, and she trod upon its pieces as she departed the tower.Jesus, I get it! There's no need to belabour the point like this.