“All of Dragos’s sentinels were mean and barbaric and sexy. Even that weird harpy-bitch Aryal, who she might have a teensy girl crush on. You know, in a totally hetero kind of way.”

“Niniane thought she saw something odd as Aryal looked back at them. The harpy's eyes were narrowed, her angular face white with strain. Niniane might have been mistaken. Dangling upside down, everything looked wrong. People moved in weird ways, their smiles all turned down, and liquid spilled from drinks falling up. It was like looking in a carnival hall of mirrors in a dream.”

“Aryal yawned. She had stretched out on the floor, her long legs crossed at the ankle. She said in a drowsy voice, “I could start bitch-slapping people. Sooner or later somebody would squawk.”

“What did okay mean to the harpy— not coughing up arterial blood?”

“The shackles." She stirred. "Aryal has both sets of chains, and the key," she told him, muffled against his skin. "She swears she'll find a way to destroy them. She's saying 'My Precious' a lot and talking about dropping them into a volcano.”

“Holy cow. She actually managed to get in two good, solid hits in a row. The sentinels were going to be high-fiving each other at her funeral.”

“When it was her turn to say good-bye, Aryal said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."Niniane opened and closed her mouth. She said, "I have no idea how to respond to that.”