Alex Banner

“I suppose it looks less like murder if you hang someone from a chandelier.”
Nic winced. “Can you stop saying that?”
“Saying what? Chandelier? I think they call it a lustre in France, but—”
“No, that’s what the dangly bits are called.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“What did you think they were called? Dangly bits?”
Leaf shrugged. “I’d honestly never thought about it, but I don’t see why you want me to stop saying chan— the c word.”
Laughing, he gripped her shoulders. “Leaf, stop talking and take a deep breath. I wasn’t trying to stop you from saying chandelier. Look, see? I said it. Chandelier. We have a lot of them in this house; I’d be in trouble if I didn’t like the word. Chan-de-lier.” With a flick of his fingers, he conjured a small ring of light that hovered in the air beside them, its miniature candles flickering.
“Oh, that’s so pretty. You’re really good at that.”
“Mere showiness, I assure you.”
Leaf stared at his conjured chandelier as it twinkled and faded into the dust motes. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that we need to know for sure whether Gillingham was murdered. Else every other question is pointless.”
“You see, that was the very word I wanted you to stop saying.”
Leaf looked entirely baffled. “Which word?”
“Murder. And murdered. And murderer. And—”
“What would you rather I call it? Premeditated life extinguishing?”
“You know what? Forget I said anything.”
“I can do that, but will it give me my five minutes back?”
― Rebecca Ide, The Gentleman and His Vowsmith

“I am made of memories.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Lying was a sin, apparently, unless you did it outrageously and persistently enough, in which case it qualified as scripture.”
― Joe Abercrombie, The Devils

“Don’t grieve for me!” He glanced about the audience, brows high. “No? No one? The truth is, at my best, I’ve been a barely adequate king. My father’s son, I daresay. Though allow me to take just a little pride in my victory against the odds at Stoffenbeck. Unfortunate timing, to take the throne with not one but two bloody revolts on the way, but that’s no excuse, really. There’s always something horrible on the way, after all. You’ll see. Not that I bear any of you ill will, you understand. Ill will is too heavy a thing to carry through life, let alone up onto a scaffold, and it’s useless in a fight in any case.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the executioner wrap his hands around the lever.
“Well! I think I’m being given the signal to finish up. To my sister, Savine…” He grinned over at her. The way he used to, when they were together, in Sworbreck’s office. When he had just thought of the best joke. One he knew she would love. That was how he wanted her to think of him. As he had been. As they had been. “I take some comfort in knowing you’ll be a far better ruler than I ever was. We have had our differences, but you remain the woman I most admire. And, let’s be honest, the only one I’ve ever loved.” He was gratified to see a tear slide down her cheek. It was not as if it had all been worth it, for one tear, but it was something. He grinned at the Lord Regent. “To her husband, Leo dan Brock, I can only say… how’s your leg?”
He gave one last chuckle, and it became a sigh. “Let’s get on with it,” he said.
There was a clatter as the trap dropped open.”
― Joe Abercrombie, The Wisdom of Crowds