'Will,' she whispered against his mouth. She wanted him closer to her so badly, it was like an ache, a painful hot ache that spread from her stomach to speed her heart and knot her hands in his hair and set her skin burning. 'Will, you need not be so careful. I will not break.'

Are you, monsieur, a man of your word?" "It really depends upon the word," Magnus said. "There are so many wonderful words.

Someday," Magnus said, looking at the crumpled royal person at his feet, "I must write my memoirs.

People who know and love the same books as you, have the road map to your soul.

This was a voice that drew out memories stretched thin by years of recollection, like paper unfolded and refolded too many times. A voice that brought back, like a wave, the memory of another time on this bridge, a night so long ago, everything black and silver and the river rushing away under her feet.

He speaks of you only with the greatest pride, Will

It didn’t matter, anyway. There was only one thing she could ask for, in the end, only one real choice. She raised her eyes to the Angel’s. "Jace," she said.