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“No, there’s no living there,” Tarrow said, more gently. “Not for anyone who wants to be human. They’re fascinated by life, just like humans are fascinated by death and raise up doctors to fight it and gods to preside over it. But that fascination doesn’t make the fair folk alive. It merely makes them cruel.”
The most beautiful tree on the road up to Limhill was the old oak they used for hangings, and it knew it.
Brû could not imagine what that was like. She had spent her life hearing of the Palace of Confluence with no sense of what it actually was, always a far-off storybook feeling. To be a servant here, to live the mirror of that feeling and know reality was out there, shaped by the everyday work done in the Confluence but to never see it—was it bizarre? Cruel? Another kind of normal?
Brû was beginning to feel that something more than chance had brought her to the Confluence.
From the Archives:
And like so many others, what the Rust Lords like best is exactly what we have.