Not all men are the same, you know. With someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming." Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.

Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?

He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.

... while I am Death's daughter and walk in His dark shadow, surely the darkness can give way to light sometimes.

It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.

Every time he glances at me I feel it just as surely as if he has reached out and run his finger along my soul. It is all I can do not to smile at the sheer wonder of it.

... then he offers me his arm. As I take it, I wonder what folly decreed that women cannot walk unassisted.