2
" Do you dislike Children? I ask, entertained at the little one’s cleverness in dodging capture attempts.
“I don’t dislike them, nor do I like them. I’ve never understood why one must love children simply because they are children. I don’t love people because they are people; in fact, I rarely like any people at all. If a child is somehow deserving of admiration, I certainly won’t deny it, but why hand it out like candy on Queen’s Day?”
I laugh, surprising him.
“Do you think me terribly cruel, then?”
“Actually, I agree. It is another great fault of mine my mother endeavored to correct. Children in general I’ve never cared for, though individual children I love very much. "
― Kiersten White , Illusions of Fate
19
" Sir Bird preens next to me, tucking feathers into place with a low noise in his throat almost like he’s talking to himself. A slow smile spreads across Finn’s face as he rubs his knuckles—black and blue with several bruises from Sir Bird’s beak.
“Let’s see,” he says, flipping through his father’s book. “Here! I’ll need some water in a shallow bowl . . . ink . . . yes, I think this is everything.” He gathers the items, then reads over the entry several times, eyebrows knit in concentration. Dipping his pen in the ink, he whispers strange words while writing on the surface of the water. The ink drips down, elongating the form of the symbols that still hover where he wrote them. I recognize one—change. But the rest I haven’t learned yet.
Then, without warning, he lifts up the bowl and dumps the whole thing onto Sir Bird.
Only instead of getting wet, as the water washes over his body, Sir Bird’s feathers turn . . . blue.
Bright, brilliant, shimmering blue.
Squawking in outrage, Sir Bird hops and flies around the room, frantically shaking his feathers. He lands on the desk with a scrabble of clawed feet, then begins trying to bite off the color.
“Ha!” Finn says, pointing at his knuckles. “Now you’re black and blue, too!”
I can’t help but laugh at my poor, panicking bird. Not to mention the ridiculous pettiness of Finn’s magic show. Picking up Sir Bird, I stroke his feathers and speak softly to him. “Hush now. I’ll make him fix you. You’re still very handsome, but blue isn’t your color, is it?”
He caws mournfully, still pulling at his own feathers.
“Finn.”
He puts his hands behind his back, trying to look innocent. “What? He deserved it.”
“He’s a bird. You can’t really find this much satisfaction in revenge against a bird, can you?”
His voice comes out just a tad petulant. “He started it. "
― Kiersten White , Illusions of Fate
20
" My hand is in his before I realize it. "We'll be going then," he says, and I nod. Of course, I will go with him. He's pretty, so very, very, pretty, and I would be a fool to say no to anything he asks of me.
I blink. No, I think. And then I manage to say it out loud.
"No."
He sits back with an angry huff, now exhausted with dark circles under his eyes. It's as though a fog has been lifted from my brain. Magic! He tried to use magic on me! And I realize it is not the first time. "If you ever try that again," I say, taking a sip of chocolate to wet my suddenly parched throat, "I will beat you silly with your own cane."
"This is the best day of my life," Eleanor says.
I cannot agree with her. "
― Kiersten White , Illusions of Fate
