Quotes from Robin LaFevers

I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.

It is this kindness of his that unsettles me most. I can dodge a blow or block a knife. I am impervious to poison and know a dozen ways to escape a chokehold or garrote wire. But kindness? I do not know how to defend against that.

People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.

The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.

It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.

He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.

You would throw away all that we have given you for a man's love?" "Not a man's love," I say softly. "But Duval's. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.

Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.

When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.

Tis Vanth's cage. You can just move it out of the way." "I already have," he grumbles. "With my shin.

However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.

He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.

Not all men are the same, you know. With someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming." Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.

I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.

His divine spark lives within me, a presence that will never leave. And I am but one of many tools He has at His disposal. If I cannot act - if I refuse to act - that is a choice I am allowed to make. He has given me life, and all I must do to serve Him is to live. Fully and with my whole heart. With this knowledge comes a true understanding of all the gifts He has given me.

I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life...

And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.

Why be the lamb when you can be the lion?

If he is smart, he will run. He is not.