Llarimar had told him to do his best. That sounded like an awful lot of work. Unfortunately, doing nothing was beginning to seem like even MORE work.

What kind of woman is still able to trust people after everything she's been through? If she'd been Vin, she would have stabbed him in the back at the first opportunity, and that would have probably been the right thing to do. Yet, this girl just continued to trust. It was like finding a beautiful plant growing alone in a field of burnt ash.

When I write my books, actually I'm known for very logical rule-based magic systems. I write with one foot in fantasy and one foot in science fiction.

It was amazing how many books one could fit into a room, assuming one didn't want to move around very much.

What wasdat, sir? What wazzat sir? What wassat, sir?” “Wayne, what are you babbling about?” Waxillium asked. “Practicing my pretzel guy,” Wayne said. “He had a great accent...” Waxillium glanced at him. "That hat looks ridiculous.” “Fortunately, I can change hats,” Wayne said in the pretzel-guy accent, “while you, sir, are stuck with that face.

If you are anything like me --- Clever, fond of goat cheese, and devilishly handsome --- then you have undoubtedly read many books.

I don't have much time for stories," Vin said. "Seems that fewer and fewer people do, these days." A canopy kept off the ash, but he seemed unconcerned about the mists. "It makes me wonder what is so alluring about the real world that gives them all such a fetish for it. It's not a very nice place these days.