Only a person with the true heart of a dictionary-writer would be lying in bed, three days after being stabbed in the gut, worrying about his P's.

She couldn't steal herself back from Randa only to give herself away again - belong to another person, be answerable to another person, build her very being around another person.

...that's how memory works ... Things disappear without your permission, then come back again without your permission.

It's not fair. It's not fair," she cried, knowing it was a child's argument but not caring, because being childish did not make it untrue.

Fire supposed he needed to be there in order to give rousing speeches and lead the charge into the fray, or whatever is was commanders did in wartime. She resented his competence at something so tragic and senseless. She wished he, or somebody, would throw down his sword and say, 'Enough! This is a silly way to decide who's in charge!' And it seemed to her, as the beds in the healing room filled and emptied and filled, that these battles didn't leave much to be in charge of. The kingdom was already broken, and this war was tearing the broken pieces smaller.

Katsa and Po were trying to drown each other and, judging from their hoots of laughter, enjoying it immensely.

And you may blame me for your feelings, but it isn't fair to blame me for how you've chosen to behave.