Ian Tregillis

We’ve drawn attention to ourselves with our obsessive need to stay inconspicuous.

It’s not my fault your makers made you humorless.

I am a pragmatist, said Mab. I do what must be done to make a better world.

“Oh, I’m sure you tell yourself that. But so does the woman who tortured Lilith. You sound exactly like her, in fact. The difference is that Berenice actually means it. She doesn’t use the pretense to justify her cruelty.”

It isn’t courtly politics if somebody doesn’t get a dagger in the back.

“It’s a debate,” he spat, “over truth. Which truth is more true? The inspiring myth or the bleak, blood-caked reality?”

But the speculation was pointless. The past was forever in the past.

He didn’t trust them. But he did trust their greed.

Only a fool wasted energy on things he could not control.

Such were the brittle threads of a relationship built not on trust but on a slurry of fear, mutual codependence, and self-interest.

I’ve learned to be wary when something makes you this excited.

The fallacy of your personal bias is inherent in your choice of words.

First, the fact he awoke at all. Cogito, ergo how the hell aren’t I dead?