“Pushing magic toward the candle, I willed it to light. Nothing happened.Irys made a strangled sound and the candle burned. “Are you directing your magic to the candle?”“Yes. Why?”“You just ordered me to light the candle for you,” Irys said in exasperation. “And I did it.”

“I found Esau’s field guide at the bottom of my pack. Taking a candle into the bedroom, I read his book until my eyes grew heavy. From his vast notes, it seemed that almost every plant and tree in the jungle had a reason for existing. I caught myself wishing there was a page in his guide that had my picture on it with the reason for my existence written underneath in Esau’s neat hand.”

“You put on such a brave front. But I know if I took another step toward you, you'd wet your pants.''With your blood.' I brandished my knife. But I couldn't keep a straight face; the boast sounded ridiculous even to my own ears. I snickered. She laughed. The release of tension made me giddy, and soon I was laughing and crying.”

“I know I hated magic for a reason," Janco said. "Congratulations. This is the first time you've had a VALID reason to hate something," Ari countered. "Remember your campaign against sand?""Sand! Horrid little stuff. Gets everywhere. I had a perfectly good argue--""Janco." Ari's voice rumbled deep in his throat.In a heartbeat, Janco switched gears. "Well, this blood magic sounds worse than sand.”

“Your fear remains strong. You are not ready to face your story, preferring instead to surround yourself with knots. Someday, they will strangle you.”

“Do you really want to know why you lost?” I asked.“Do you really have an answer?” he countered.“You need to get off your horse and run with your men. You don’t have the stamina for a long fight. And find a lighter sword.”“But it was my uncle’s.”“You’re not your uncle.”“But I’m the King, and this is the King’s sword,” Cahil said. His brows creased together. He seemed confused.“So wear it to your coronation,” I said. “If you use it in battle, you’ll be wearing it to your funeral,” I said.”

“Janco leaned on the threshold of my door with his face creased in annoyance. “Did she just—”“Yes.”“But I don’t—”“Yes. You do. We both stink.”“Well, I’m not—”“Yes. You are.”He huffed. “You won’t let—”“No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags.“Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped.“No. She couldn’t.”He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse.”