Ari Nathara

“I feel Sel’s gaze on the back of my neck, on my cheek, before I hear his voice.
“Mae hi’n brydferth.”
“What?” I ask. Nick turns when I do, just as confused. Arthur’s memories don’t recognize modern Welsh, and I only know a little. I do recognize the words for “she” and “beautiful” though.
Or maybe Nick isn’t just as confused as me, because a slow, laughing smile spreads across his face, like he understands Sel’s game already. He leans a hip against the wall to watch me beside his Kingsmage, eyes teasing. “Ydi, mae hi. Yn dragwyddol.”
Maybe that last word was “forever.”
“Beautiful forever”? No, “always”? I flush, then pout.
“Because of Arthur, I’m only fluent in Old Welsh, not modern. You know this isn’t fair.”
“We know,” they respond together, and laugh.”
― Tracy Deonn, Bloodmarked

“I recognize that sound. It's the sound of holding on to a cliff by the edge of your nails. The sound of barely containing a pain so immense that to look at it, to raise your own flesh and examine what's beneath, is to risk falling into a darkness you know you'll never escape.”
― Tracy Deonn, Legendborn

“Sel looks between us both. “I cannot believe I am stuck with you two.”
The tension lifts, and I smile. “You are, you know. Stuck with us.”
Nick makes a sound of disagreement. “Nah. I think you’re stuck with us, Bree.”
― Tracy Deonn, Bloodmarked

“But grief isn’t a competition. It’s not an identical pain that we all meet one day when death finds us. It’s a monster, personalized by our love and memories to devour us just so. Grief is suffering, tailored.”
― Tracy Deonn, Bloodmarked