Quotes from Storm Constantine

Othman was nearby, causing trouble, no doubt. Perhaps he'd found another youthful Grigori like herself to seduce and corrupt.

I was sure he knew exactly what I had experienced in the night, as strongly as if he'd spoken to one aloud. In some way, he had experienced it too, and had been shocked out of his coma.

You had to face the fear to be worthy of acceptance.

We wear our troubles on our faces, Varencienne thought, then imagined herself with frozen agony in the set of her mouth.

The empress of Pharinet's tale was perhaps the kind of mother Varencienne would have liked to have had all along: a priestess, a sorcererss, with a forgotten book of secret knowledge. Her own fantasies could not have provided a more perfect history. Yet this Tatrini lived only in Pharinet's words. Varencienne would need proof for herself.

I thanked all the spirits such creatures as Annec existed, whose opponent sole function was the nurturing of others, and that is gave them such pleasure. All you had to do was be weakly grateful for their ministrations, and they puffed up with maternal urges like a sail full of wind.

A large part of her enjoyed the fearful excitement of being alone with this strange, powerful woman who could possibly be very dangerous. Wonder and fear: an intoxicating cocktail for someone who spent so much time alone.

For a while, I relaxed among the greenery, digesting my refreshment, rolling my tongue around my mouth to catch the last sweet nuances of Vee's flavour.

A vibration is building up-within himself and the walls of the house.

He knew he could not get close to Ays, for Ays was the part of himself that was distant. He could only ever be a phantom in Ays's reality, reaching out to touch, to communicate, yet fruitlessly because he was mute and limbless. In some strange way, even though he knew himself to be the author of Ays' life, he was but an observer on the boundary of it; helpless.

The whole production sizzled with his personal observations, his discontent, he misplaced spirit of renewal. I gave them life, I think, but in such a way that no one could guess his intention. That was my revenge, which I knew he would notice.

The symbolism of what they had done meant nothing in this world, this life, unless we ourselves empowered it with meaning.

Caradore was not at rest. Ghosts walked there unseen: the shade of a younger, more innocent Valraven, Ellony, Thomist, Pharinet's parents, and even Khaster, although he had not lived there. His shade would be beautiful, sensitive and mournful.

Beth was a pleasurable fantasy, but I liked to think she looked upon me as an imaginary friend.

He wanted to offer reassurance, encouragment, but a maelstorm of images silenced his words. Heavy breathing, but of terror, not desire. Owen's taut body, his hammering heart, his hunger to plunder and invade held back. As well as this, a pitiful ache of longing, of feelings impossible to articulate, a sense of history, of timelessness, a silver reed of connection stretching back into the black diamond-studded night of eternity and magic, the earth, the power, a circle.

Peveral Othman had been demonic in his obsessions, but he had never experienced doubt or regret. Shem yearned for that strength of indifference now.

The teas consisted of an array of fiery foreign dishes, accompanied by an unidentifiable hot beverage that tasted of stale smoke. Shan could barely eat. The spices burned his mouth, the drink made him nauseous.

Love seemed far from this place, but then, had he not predicted himself that love could be cruel and stronger than death?

Was it an awakening to the bizarreness of the world that instigated their flight, or was curiosity a consequence of their running away?

The air was hushed and still as if the fog were an enchantment beneath whose spell the whole world slept.

He, like dead Rephain, was one of those bright blooms that grow quickly flaccid on the vine, eaten by decay in an evening's rain.

A faint but discomfortable memory of a screaming face surfaced in Shem's mind.

Archimage Mordryn made a soft sound of assent. He was a massive man, broad of shoulder, built more like a warrior than a priest. His face was kind and avuncular, his voice always gentle. Valraven considered him to be one of the most dangerous men in the Empire.

Caradore has made a woman out of a little mouse.