123
" But as I looked up at him, I saw genuine worry in his eyes. I realized he really had thought I was hurt. “Mael,” I said, reaching up to brush back the strands of dark hair that fell in his face. “I’m sorry. I—” His lips on mine silenced my apology, muffling my words with his sudden, hungry kiss. My eyes went wide . . . then drifted shut, plunging me into a red-lit darkness. My heart was a glowing ember bursting into flame, and all I could think was that this was what joy felt like. Fierce and demanding. My eyelids fluttered open again, and I gazed up at Mael, at the flecks of dark silver in his eyes. They glinted like the raw iron our blacksmith melted down to forge swords and daggers and all manner of dangerous and beautiful things. Suddenly, I knew the answer. Lost. I would be completely lost without Mael. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
130
" reached beneath the folds of her cloak and brought forth a lamp, a delicate thing hanging on a slender chain. “To light your way in the darkness,” I heard her murmur. She let the chain slide through her fingers, and the lantern dropped gently into the pit on top of the other things. Then she raised her voice and said, “Her name was Ismene. Let it be known. She was a sister of our familia. A gladiatrix of House Achillea. She fought as we fight, with bravery and with skill. Five days ago, she fought to win honor in a match with a warrior maid of the House Amazona. She won, but Ismene was grievously wounded in that fight. Our surgeons did what they could for her. Last night the goddess Nemesis, she of the midnight brow, in her great wisdom called Ismene to the realm of heroes and sent forth Mercury to guide her there. She feasts now in the halls of Dis, she spars with Minerva, and she waits for all of us to join her there, and we mourn her absence even as others have this very day joined our ranks here. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
138
" Enough!” Sorcha said finally, rounding on me. “Have you really thought about what it means to be a warrior, Fallon?” I blinked at her, noticing for the first time the turbulence in her gaze. “Have you?” She sighed. “Because I have. It means you kill. You kill men. You kill women. All while they are trying very hard to kill you. And if one of them is better at it than you, then you die. Are you so eager to dance with death, little sister?” I was ten years old. I didn’t know what to say. What I should have said was “Don’t go.” But instead, I just pouted and stayed silent. Sorcha left our house and never returned to hear my answer to her question. That was the first night that the Morrigan visited me in my sleep and named me—me, not Sorcha—her daughter. It was a sacred thing, fearsome and awesome all at once, and I’d never told anyone. But I’d always kept the memory of her voice locked away in my heart. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
139
" You missed all the fun today, little fox,” Elka said as she sank down beside me and tipped her head back into the steaming water. “Fun?” I shook my head to get the water out of one ear. “When did this so-called fun happen?” “Just after you were finished getting pummeled all over the practice pitch by Meriel.” Elka grinned. “You left, and Nyx had a few unkind things to say about your abilities in your absence.” I shrugged. “She probably had a point. I was terrible today.” “The only point she has,” Elka said, “is the thorn she’s had stuck up her arse about you ever since we first got here. The gods alone know why—it’s not as if we’re the only new recruits. Anyway, I guess I just got sick of her casting an evil eye at you everywhere you went.” I sat up, blinking away the spangles left by the steam on my eyelashes. “What did you do?” I demanded. Her eyes widened with mock innocence. “I simply asked when Nyx was going to call off Meriel and her other attack dogs and muster up enough guts to fight you herself.” Elka stretched her arms above her head and knit her fingers together with a sigh of satisfaction. “Oh, dear goddess,” I groaned. “You didn’t.” “She did.” The surface of the water rippled, and I turned, peering through the steam to see that Ajani had slipped into the pool to join us, an amused gleam in her wide, dark eyes. “She also said that once you had finished fighting all of Nyx’s lackeys, you’d be more than happy to explain to her personally all the ways she holds a blade wrong. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
140
" And then it was my turn. I stood there, shoulders back, head high, eyes focused somewhere over Sorcha’s left shoulder as, wordlessly, she stalked back from retrieving my oath gift from the chariot. And what she gave me . . . was already mine. My sword. The only thing other than me that had survived the long journey from Durovernum. The thing that had convinced Charon that I had value and had prompted my sister to buy my life for a ridiculous amount of money. It seemed that she had commissioned a new leather sheath for it, dyed black and embossed with the intricate, tortuously beautiful artwork of our people. Sorcha belted the sword around my waist and, as its comforting weight settled against my left hip, my hand dropped reflexively to rest on the hilt. It felt as though a severed limb had suddenly been sewn back onto my body. But then I noticed that on my right hip there hung a second—empty—sheath. I frowned in confusion, then glanced up into my sister’s face. With a start, I saw that there was the thin line of a scar, beneath the blue-painted designs on her forehead, running from the shock of silver in her hair down to her over-dark eye. She stared down at me, her expression fierce and hard, as her right hand crossed her body to her own left hip, and she drew the sword she wore. It was a twin to my blade. The sword she had carried into battle the last time I’d seen her. With a swift, brief-as-lightning flourish, she resheathed the blade in the empty scabbard on my hip. A murmur rippled through the watchers beneath the portico. The dimachaerus technique—fighting with two swords—was a rare choice among gladiatrices, and so the second sword was a rare gift. Of course, no one there watching would come close to understanding the true significance of Sorcha’s gift to me. I wasn’t even sure if I understood it. "
― Lesley Livingston , The Valiant (The Valiant, #1)
