"Well then,"Roen said briskly, "are you sleeping?""Yes.""Come now. A mother can tell when her son lies. Are you eating?""No,"Brigan said gravely. "I've not eaten in two months. It's a hunger strike to protest the spring flooding in the south.""Gracious,"Roen said, reaching for the fruit bowl. "Have an apple, dear."
"If her enemies were Brigan's friends and her friends were Brigan's enemies, then the two of them could walk through the world arm in arm and never be hit by arrows again."
"If we knew a person was going to die, we'd hold harder to the memories."Fire corrected him, in a whisper. "The good memories."
"It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye."
"All right,"Clara said. "We have our swordsman, so let's get moving. Brigan, could you attempt, at least, to make yourself presentable? I know this is a war, but the rest of us are trying to pretend it's a party."
"You're the queen, and it's the queen's house, and whatever Brigan may accomplish, he's highly unlikely ever to be queen."