Цитаты из книги Nevernight

"What the 'byss is going on in that tower?" Tric whispered. "Mishap," Mia replied. "...What?" "Three dried buds of Liisian loganberry, a third of a cup of molasses essence, and a pinch of dried cordwood root." She shrugged. "Mishap. You might know it as 'P.ubmer`s Bane.'" Tric blinked. "You poisoned the entire garrison?" "Well, technically Fat Daniio poisoned them. He served the evemeal. I just added the spice." Mia smiled. "It`s not lethal. They`re just suffering a touch of... intestinal distress."

She wasn`t a pretty thing. O, the tales you`ve heard about the assassin who destroyed the Itreyan Republic no doubt described her beauty as otherworldly; all milk-white skin and slender curves and bow-shaped lips. And she was possessed of these qualities, true, but the composition seemed... a little off. "Milk-white" is just pretty talk for "pasty," after all. "Slender" is a poet`s way of saying "starved." Her skin was pale and her cheeks hollow, lending her a hungry, wasted look. Crow-black hair reached to her ribs, save for a self-inflicted and crooked fringe. Her lips and the flesh beneath her eyes seemed perpetually bruised, and her nose had been broken at least once. If her face were a puzzle, most would put it back in the box, unfinished. Moreover, she was short. Stick-thin. Barely enough arse for her britches to cling to. Not a beauty that lovers would die for, armies would march for, heroes might slay a god or daemon for. All in contrast to what you`ve been told by your poets, I`m sure. But she wasn`t without her charm, gentlefriends, And all your poets are full of shit.

She drew the stiletto from her belt. Proffered it on her forearm, head bowed. The blade was crafted of gravebone, gleaming white and hard as steel, its hilt carved like a crow in flight. Red amber eyes gleamed in the scarlet sunslight. "Keep it." The old man sniffed. "It`s yours again. You earned it. At last." She looked the knife over, this way and that. "Should I give it a name?" "You could, I suppose. But what`s the point?" "It`s this bit. "She touched the blade`s tip. "The part you stick them with." "O bravo. Mind you don`t cut yourself on a wit that sharp." "All great blades have names. It`s just how it`s done." "Bollocks." Mercurio took back the dagger, held it between them. "Naming your blade is the sort of faff reserved for heroes, girl. Men who have songs sung about them, histories spun for them, brats named after them. It`s the shadow road for you and me. And you dance it right, no one will ever know your name, let alone the pig-sticker in your belt. You`ll be a rumor. A whisper. The thought that wakes the bastard of this world sweating in the nevernight. The last thing you will ever be in this world, girl, is someone`s hero." Mercurio handed back the blade. "But you will be a girl heroes fear."

Наив нравится ее новое лицо. Ткачиха знает свою работу, да?
Мия машинально подняла руку к щеке.
– Это точно.
– Она скучает по своему старому обличию? Чувствует ли уже изменения внутри себя?
– Они изменили меня только внешне. Я все тот же человек, каким была вчера. Внутри себя.
– С этого все и начинается. Ткачество – только первая ступень. Бабочка помнит, что была гусеницей. Но чувствует ли она что-либо кроме жалости к той мерзости, что ползала в грязи? После того, как она раскрыла эти прекрасные крылья и научилась летать?