The gods let us jump so that we could be free.
August shakes his head. “There are no gods in this world.” He reaches out to close her eyes. “Only kings and tyrants.”

Calla Tuoleimi, princess of Er. She could do nothing on a throne, but she can do everything with a sword in her hand.

“That she was a sociopath”—his fists have clenched—“and a lying, manipulative bitch of a half sister.”
Anton cannot contain his glower. A rush like no other floods Calla’s veins.
“He wouldn’t dare—”
“No, you’re right,” Calla cuts in, examining her nails. “Those aren’t his words at all. Those are mine.”

She knows she’s leaving marks on him, her nails digging deep, and by the intensity of his fingers on her hips, he will have left a canvas of damage too. Let it bruise. Let him mark her skin permanently as a memory of what divine agony is.

“You’re beautiful.” Calla snorts behind her mask.
“You can’t see me.”
“Who says I have to?”
“Do you flirt with every person you’re trying to kill?”
“Only you, Fifty-Seven.”

But Anton does not tighten his grip on her throat. What should be a deathly squeeze becomes merely a caress, and he leans in to kiss her, more softly than any of the times previous.
“I know,” Calla replies, matching his volume. She closes her eyes, her hands tracing down his back, nails running along the muscle. There’s some feral feeling humming in her chest, and she has to resist the urge not to attack him when her hands sink low, feeling how hard he is. She’s going to lose her mind. His hand runs another caress at her jaw. She can hear the teasing in his voice.
“Is something the matter?”
“You are wicked,” she breathes. “Take your pants off and fuck me.”

No matter what, everything in Talin flows back to him. There is nothing that can compete with his wealth, but stay in line, and he might just break off a piece and offer it generously. A gift; a consolation prize.

Casual travel in and out of San-Er is, after all, forbidden. Once someone becomes a citizen of the twin cities by birth or by lottery, there they remain, unless they are granted a formal departure permit. King Kasa is too afraid of what might happen if people are allowed free travel.

“It will be remembered,” he goes on, like he doesn’t hear her. “And what fine daylight we have today to ensure its longevity in their memory.”

Now, the games are a thrill that anyone can participate in, a solution to a kingdom simmering with complaints. Don’t worry if your babies drop dead because they have hollowed into starved husks, King Kasa declares. Don’t worry that your elderly must sleep in cages because there is no more apartment space, nor that the neon light from the strip club across the alleyway keeps you awake night after night. Put your name in the lottery, slaughter only eighty-seven of your fellow citizens, and be awarded with riches beyond your wildest dreams.

Maybe it would be better if San-Er simply killed its people faster. Instead, it lets them rot. The elderly with nowhere else to go live stacked atop one another like animals inside enclosures. The children breathe asbestos in their schools and store poison in their lungs. Sometimes the sick and injured intentionally wander the streets during the games, hoping to be invaded. The games make jumping legal for the players, after all—they must answer for it by providing some sort of care. Collateral casualties who are gravely injured must be taken to the hospital free of cost; collateral casualties whose bodies are destroyed must be paid handsomely, and if their qi is killed alongside it, then their family members get the money. Plenty throw themselves in front of players on purpose, making a sacrifice so that their loved ones can eat.

“Do not mistake my tolerance for weakness, August,” she says quietly. “Do not forget who you’re talking to. You’ve gotten used to ordering people around, I know. Day in and day out, they must heed what you say, because you are the crown prince, and they cannot offend such a man.” Her eyes flicker back to him. “But I am Calla Tuoleimi.” The lie no longer feels like a lie. “I am a princess who sacrificed my own throne for this kingdom. You do not order me around.”

 “Why begin, when it will end?”

“I think this is where I’ll die. I think I’ll just lie down and wait for death. He can use me to fertilize the flowers.”

“And I almost hope there was someone after me, someone who broke him differently. Because I’m not worth three years of someone’s life.”

“I wonder if she’ll look up The Language of Flowers and figure out I just told her, You are immature and I resent you. Go away.”

Flowers are better than people. 
“Yes, Dad, they are,” I say to the empty shop.

“There are exactly four of his flowers that are still kicking, ones that I brought to his funeral when I thought he’d maybe like more flowers than people there.”

“I posted a picture of a deconstructed floral arch ten minutes ago, and I’m already checking on Twitter to see if Instagram is broken. After five minutes, I finally get a set of likes. But because my self-worth is now intrinsically tied to this picture, I’m thinking of deleting it, then myself.”

“There’s no room inside of her, but I fuck her like I belong there.” More spicy quotes at the bottom!

“I’m Cynthia, Ama’s mother.”
Well, fuck.
“Hi, good. I mean, good to meet you.”

“But I don’t know how to make it happen other than just…hanging around. I’ve asked out exactly four women in my life, and statistically, I’m not great at this.”

“Did I just kill her with a peanut butter donut?”
“Sir, I’m sure she’s not dead.”

“Nice to know you can keep a cool head under pressure.” 
I feel like today was anything but “a cool head under pressure,” but I guess we’ll leave that between me and Josephine, the 9-1-1 operator.

“His hair is long again. He has half of it tied back, out of his face. I called it a man bun once, and he gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the day.”

“Are you fucking kidding me with this car?!”
“It’s drivable! It’s fine!”

“Every single warning light turns on—more than usual. Apparently my tires are flat, my oil needs changing, and my window washer liquid is low. The only thing going for me is the needle pointing to a half tank of gas, but even that is questionable with the low fuel indicator glaring at me. As my engine putters, I consider just how bad it would be to drive twenty blocks in a car that is clearly screaming for death.”

“I nod. I agree. I listen. But I’ve accepted the fact that I just drove fifteen miles at two thirty in the morning to squeeze into this bathtub and listen to Ama wheel-spin. It’s fine. I may fall asleep, slip under, and drown. But it’s fine.”

“You can help me set up sparklers,” she says in a silky voice, as if sparklers means something else entirely.
“Is it really setting up sparklers? Because you know how I feel about you needing an assistant—”
“I mean, come back and I’ll fuck you in your truck.”

“What’s wrong?” I grip her hips.
“Fucking god, Elliot,” she whimpers. “I forgot how big you are.”

“You’ll have to forgive me forgetting,” she says, reaching forward to finger the button at my collar. “You were in those skinny jeans and that plaid shirt. It made you look like a missionary come to save my filthy soul.”

“Be it bright or dark, you are the light that makes my lantern shine.” 

 "When I burn this world to embers, and you paint me as the villain, remember, I really did try to be good...once."

"This is how the world ends"

"Just remember you may be immortal, but your friends, family, and those who look up to you aren't. So how many do you want to lose because you won't let me do what I need to do?"

"A lock on a door in a house rattled"

"She will kill me! Aren’t you supposed to be the good guy?” 
I twisted the handle, locking him in, and leaned against the door. “I never once said that I was good. That is just a fable you all tell yourselves that I will show mercy. You believe that to be the law and govern the realms, I have to be at least neutral, but sometimes a king has to be a monster.”

"Just go home. Go back to your castle and towers of silver. Go home and let the monsters handle their business."

“I buried my father. I buried my mother. Now, I will bury her.”

“The room shook again, and [Neverra] looked up. “What’s happening?” 
Another roar spilt the sky, and small rocks rained from the ceiling. 
“It’s Dianna. I think she is working through her problems.”