Thrice, mortal maiden,” in a rhyme almost like a song, “Thrice you shall turn silver to gold for me, or be… — Naomi Novik

But I had not known that I was strong enough to do any of those things until they were over and I had done them. I had to do the work first, not knowing.

The only thing that had ever done me any good in my father’s house was thinking: no one had cared what I wanted, or whether I was happy. I’d had to find my own way to anything I wanted. I’d never been grateful for that before now, when what I wanted was my life.

A power claimed and challenged and thrice carried out is true