One heart cannot serve two masters.

You would throw away all that we have given you for a man’s love?” “Not a man’s love,” I say softly. “But Duval’s. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.

Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.

Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.

It is this kindness of his that unsettles me most. I can dodge a blow or block a knife. I am impervious to poison and know a dozen ways to escape a chokehold or garrote wire. But kindness? I do not know how to defend against that.

Are men truly such idiots that they cannot resist two orbs of flesh?