Leah Cypess

“She had learned to pay attention to the variations in Rokan's smiles. There was the sideways half-smile when he found something amusing; the slow, contented smile that appeared only rarely these days; and the wide, dazzling, unrestrained smile she had so far seen only twice, when he first came for her in the Mistwood and when they watched the hawk soar against the sky. And then there was this one, the reason for her watchfulness: the impish grin that meant he wanted to do something he knew was stupid and was going to do it anyhow.”

“Because this, as it turned out, was her destiny. Not to be the powerful sorceress her people had been waiting for , not to to be the ruthless killer the assassins needed. Her destiny was to save one person at a time, change things one tiny step after another.It still hurt, a tinge of loss. Her life wouldn't be grand, or dramatic, or momentous. There would be no great choices to make, no moments when everything would change. It would make a dull story if she was ever called upon to tell it.It hurt, yes. But it was also something of a relief.”

“Ileni swallowed hard. "Yes," she said. "I am. But it's all going to be the same, for a very long time. The sorcerers will have all the power, and the assassins will eventually regather and start attacking again... and I haven't made any difference at all.""Well," Evin said, "I think you've made quite a bit of difference to the people whose lives you saved. Speaking as one of them."She stepped away from the edge, closer to him. "Do you regret it?" he asked evenly.His face was half-shadowed, but his eyes were bright and piercing. Not wide with pain and devoid of hope. She felt again his hand, limp and helpless in hers. Felt it tighten as Sorin plummeted past the gray rock. "No," she said. And for at least that moment, it was entirely true.”

“She knew that Evin thought she had chosen because of him. Because somewhere, deep down, she loved him. And maybe someday - if she did end up loving him - she would tell him the truth.That it hand't been about love.It had, in the end, been about death. About who needed it, and who was ashamed of it, and who celebrated it. About who might, someday, move past it.”