Elizabeth

“Although Mar would be quite pleased to be consort, Skjaldwulf didn't want to be wolfjarl.

He wanted Isolfr, and he would take the damned job that went with it, if he could win it, if that was what it took.”
― Sarah Monette, A Companion to Wolves

“Felix just sat there, not smirking exactly - or not so as you could call him on it - but clearly happy with how unhappy he'd managed to make all of us.”
― Sarah Monette, The Virtu

“I gave up on cussing - I'd run out of words filthy enough - and just started praying.”
― Sarah Monette, The Virtu

“He's not my lover," Isolfr said.

She raised an eyebrow, a long feathery, shaggy sweep. "You're his beloved. Both of them. I saw enough on the war-trail to know." Then she laughed, and took her hand off his and pushed his chest like a wolf-cub nudging playfully. "We don't get to pick who loves us, you know. And better to get him to write the song than be remembered forever as 'fair Isolfr, the cold.'"

He scrubbed a hand across his face, roughness of beard and scars and the smooth skin of the unmarked cheek. "Is that really what they call me?"

She smiled. "You frighten them, Viradechtisbrother. You went down under the mountain and came out again, twice, and the alfar call you friend. They'll have you among the heroes before you know it. And you can seem quite untouchable—'ice-eyes, and ice-heart, and ice-hard, his will.'"

"Othinn help me. It is a song already.”
― Sarah Monette, A Companion to Wolves