Lynn Flewelling

“A crafty nightrunner died of late,And found himself at Bilairy’s Gate.He stood outside and refused to knockBecause he meant to pick the lock.”

“I don't want to spend a fortune on my cremation urn, but I really do want to look nice at my memorial service.”

“It was Alec who brought their lips together. Seregil's first reaction was disbelief. But Alec was insistent, clumsy but determined. It lasted an instant, an eternity, that one awkward kiss, and it spoke silent volumes of bewildered honesty.The moment that followed was too fragile for words.”

“So I might have to marry Alec when I'm grown," Illia was prattling across to Seregil. "I hope that won't hurt your feelings too much." Seregil slapped a hand over his heart like a troubadour in a mural. "Ah, fair maiden, I shall slay a thousand evil dragons for you, and lay their steaming black livers at your dainty feet, if only you will restore me to your favor.""Livers!" Illia buried her face against Alec's shoulder with an outraged giggle. "You wouldn't bring me livers, would you, Alec?" "Of course not," Alec scoffed. "What a disgusting present. I'd bring you the eyeballs for a necklace, and all their scaly pointed tongues to tie your braids with.”

“I hate being told what to do! Especially by myself!”

“Though you thrust a knife at my eyes, I will not flinch.”