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448 pages, Hardcover
First published June 8, 2021
"...cheeks still burning"
"...him and his flustered, prayerful blushing"
"My cheeks flush"
"The barest flush of his cheeks"
"No, he agrees, cheeks flushing faintly"
"...a blush deepening her exceptionally pale face"
"...struggling not to think of his body flush against my own"
"...remembering the line of his body against mine"
"...I didn't imagine his body pressing along the length of mine..."
"My body remembers the shape of his, from so many nights curled together"
I don't think I'm imagining the note of regret in his voice, nor the dark pall that casts over his face, but it does nothing to calm the fury and horror boiling in my belly. What little gratitude I had toward him for saving my life slivers away, like a crescent moon turning new. His dainty flushes and proud nose, the pliant tenor of his voice - all of it is a veneer for his barbarity.
If you stare long enough into the darkness of the forest, eventually something will stare right back.
We kept no mirrors in Keszi, but I would spend hours kneeling at the riverside, watching my reflection crease and wrinkle like it was an embroidery on silk, puzzling over whether my nose belonged to my mother or my father, and what it would mean either way. There was no answer that didn’t hurt to swallow. I almost tell him that, before I remember that he’s no friend of mine.
“I don’t think the hawk is evil,” Gáspár says after a moment. “But I’m not a mouse.”
“And thank Isten you aren’t,” I say. “Mice don’t have the luxury of passing moral judgment on every living thing they come across. Mice just get eaten.”
“You have the uncommon ability to make me doubt what I once thought was certain,” he says. “I’ve spent the last fortnight fearing you would destroy me. You may still.”
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