"To be courteous to all and to work hard with your hands is a chain of office no man may be ashamed to bear. For the preservation of your own soul, make sure you are such a man as can ascend the hill of God."
“Sit down, Tamn!” Raymond barked. With his ears full of the drumming of his heels on the woodwork and the roaring of his own blood, he crossed the room and slammed the undersides of his hands into the lip of the table, sending it shocking back into Dryden’s gut. “Sit down! I’m going to speak with you—and know that I have a remarkable aim,” he added with a growl reverberating in his throat, “and I am not afraid to use it, even on you.”
[He] stopped in the entryway and turned back, eyebrows rampant. "At your feet? What will you have done to deserve that? No, [he] will lay his head at my feet, and over his ears I will cross my spurs." He put his hand out and pushed aside the hanging. "If you want your enemies to eat out of your hand, be greater than they."
"I will not fight providence."
...I saw a soft smile steal into the crevice of it before the man was then looking at me, all movements slow and deliberate: the smile was gone when I looked down into his face, and half his face was plunged into shadow so that only one amber-shard was visible staring back up at me, its pupil shrunk down until it was almost nothing.
Very well. She dropped her visor so that the metal rang like her rage. I will kill her, and he will have no recourse but to face me.
"Shellah elain; falla farique?"
He recalled that day across leagues of days, a day of rage and inexpressible grief. It had been the day they placed his mother in the ground. He remembered that fight, hot-blooded and sweet in the brain of a boy to whom the world had turned dark and meaningless. He had cared for Skander’s honour, but he had needed also a thing to hurt which was not his own tortured soul, and that miscreant, slip-mouthed boy had been excuse enough. It was not a good memory to him.
“For most of us we desire you to die,” he growled. “Nor do many of us wish to pass words between you and ourselves. To us you are a traitor. Who were you, Auxoris, whelp of the steppe country, born out of lowly loins, that you should raise yourself up above us and then set your heel upon our necks? ...Thou ungrateful half-breed bastard, whose first loyalty should have been to the mother who suckled him! When you were of bow-bending age you left us, your own people, to join the ranks of the pale southern charlatans! The tents of your folk you forgot, your blood you let stagnate in the cloying walls of stone. You learned the talk of the southerner, you learned the war-craft of the fells. You left your people, to whom you might have done much good, and for what?” he demanded viciously. “To become the bitch of the Honours!”
The thing came close, never fully in the candlelight, but as it stood by its master’s chair with its head bent a little, nostrils working at my scent, I saw its eye flick upward and chance down again, and was privy to a view of fierce, falcon-coloured iris and lids thickly swept with kohl.
“Art sure it is a hound-on-blue for your house, or is it some other beast of heraldry? Juno, wilt curb your brute—or are you also set high against the bit?”
His smile, he felt, became unpleasant. “Do not appeal to me,” purred his cat with negligent amusement. “I am angry enough to kick out the traces.”
His cousin threw up one hand in despair and the admittance of a touch.
With two fingers [he] brushed the papers off his lap onto the cushion beside him. “I do not kick you about the skull…” His eye lingered on the window of the Fourth House, faded shell-coloured on the ragged sheet, closed in by thick atrament lines. The Fourth House: the House of Hearth and Home. A sudden smile, born out of a sudden humour, flashed up on his face and he tossed up his head, meeting his cousin’s eye with a glint and a growl. “Hast got more of thy mother’s temper than I reckoned!” he remarked.
"Aye, but you are not Father! You cannot play with death and expect to come away unscathed!"
A brief fierceness flickered over Auxoris’ countenance, causing me to wonder if the man had already asked Chatoyant to put out the life of someone in the dark as one presses out a flame on a candle’s wick…but then that soft, spare smile touched the lips, forming two harsh lines in the cheeks, and in answer he raised the hand nearest to Chatoyant. With a little corkscrew twist the man flashed upward, spinning round, and stepped away with the shiningness of a soundless whistle feathering the air around his body.
"Nevertheless, you will trust me."
All the way to Gemeren
And back again by tea—
A round-trip on a sea-glass
Horse, a horse blue as the sea.
All the way to Gemeren
To go a-hunting deer—
Posting down to Gemeren
With Teddy and Mother-dear.