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“Looking over the Ethan's bowed head, amidst the tangled forest of Wilderness littered with the bodies of men dead and dying, Victor saw the serene image of his mother. She smiled at her son, her unbound black hair blowing wildly in the breeze. She reached a hand out towards him, and this time, he went with her.”
― Victor's Blessing
― Victor's Blessing
“You realize assuming can often lead to getting into trouble.”
― The Last Sunset
― The Last Sunset
“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward.
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would. He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined.
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would. He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined.
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
“We’re not here to argue with you about the wisdom of our alliance that has kept the Persians at bay for forty years. An argument requires a measure of equality between those in the dispute and Samos is not the equal of Athens.”
― Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece
― Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece
“Saskia.” A hand covered hers.
Saskia frowned. It was irritating enough that she only had one hand to work with. She didn’t need to have the movement of that one impeded as well. “I’m in the middle of – Oh! Tania! What – I thought you were in Canberra.”
“I was yesterday. I returned this morning.”
“Yesterday?” Saskia turned from staring at Tania to staring at her computer and the table. A half-empty mug of something sat next to a partly eaten sandwich and a mostly empty glass of water. “Oh,” she sat back in her chair. “I do this sometimes. I get caught up in things.”
Her gaze fell on the lines and boxes on the monitor’s screen. She sat forward, her surroundings disappearing from her awareness again. “Tania, I think I’m close to figuring it out.”
Tania’s hand, still on Saskia’s, squeezed gently. “Good. But now you need to take a rest.”
“No. I can finish this. I’m on a roll.”
“Yes. You can roll again later.”
“Look! I think I’ve almost worked it out.” She tugged her hand from under Tania’s and pointed to her computer screen, which showed a bank statement. “Look at these transactions. I can match them to –”
Tania peered at the screen. “Whose statement is that?”
― The Forest: A thrilling international crime novel
Saskia frowned. It was irritating enough that she only had one hand to work with. She didn’t need to have the movement of that one impeded as well. “I’m in the middle of – Oh! Tania! What – I thought you were in Canberra.”
“I was yesterday. I returned this morning.”
“Yesterday?” Saskia turned from staring at Tania to staring at her computer and the table. A half-empty mug of something sat next to a partly eaten sandwich and a mostly empty glass of water. “Oh,” she sat back in her chair. “I do this sometimes. I get caught up in things.”
Her gaze fell on the lines and boxes on the monitor’s screen. She sat forward, her surroundings disappearing from her awareness again. “Tania, I think I’m close to figuring it out.”
Tania’s hand, still on Saskia’s, squeezed gently. “Good. But now you need to take a rest.”
“No. I can finish this. I’m on a roll.”
“Yes. You can roll again later.”
“Look! I think I’ve almost worked it out.” She tugged her hand from under Tania’s and pointed to her computer screen, which showed a bank statement. “Look at these transactions. I can match them to –”
Tania peered at the screen. “Whose statement is that?”
― The Forest: A thrilling international crime novel
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