Kushiel's Justice (Imriel's Trilogy #2)

Again and again, I pushed my memories away. There were days when it was easy and days when it was hard. My love ... was a boulder in my heart. I sought to let go of it and let it sink. Let it sink below the surface, carrying my heart with it. Let it come to rest on the stream's bottom, a vast hidden bulwark, dividing the current. Let it stay there, hidden and unseen. Forgotten. Betimes it worked. Betimes it didn't. It was the best I could do.

And in so doing, mayhap we reshaped the gods themselves. Now that was a thought made me shudder to the bone. I wondered if it were true, and if it were, what would happen when some deity bent out of true by mortal ambition returned to set the record straight.

By morning, Joscelin was resigned. "You know, betimes I think you are a little mad, Imriel no Montreve," he said to me in the courtyard outside the stable, holding the Bastard's reins.

"You never said that to Phedre," I reminded him.

"Ah, well." He grinned despite himself. "In her case, there is no question.

I discovered that we liked each other. But I was fearful of giving free rein to my emotions. Fearful that all those emotions and longings I suppressed would spill forth, rendering me bitter and cruel.

I thought about what a priest of Elua had told me about love many years ago, the first time I kept his vigil on the Longest Night. You will find it and lose it, again and again. And with each finding and each loss, you will become more than before. What you make of it is yours to choose. It was true.

It is a dangerous thing to bring a dream to life....I have watched my deepest, dearest hopes take shape, and I am not entirely sure I like the shape they have taken.

I wanted it, I wanted it all. All the ardent beginnings and the confused between-times and the bittersweet dregs.
All of the aches and sorrows, all of the soaring joys.
All of it.

I wondered if, by the time we'd been together as long as Phèdre and Joscelin, I'd be able to predict her reactions.
I wasn't sure I would.
I wasn't sure I wanted to, either.

Joscelin, is love supposed to make you feel like you’re sick and dying, and mad enough to hit someone, and drunk with joy, and your heart’s a boulder in your chest trying to burst into a thousand pieces, all at once?” “Mm-hmm.” He finished his ale. “That would be love.

Joscelin, is love supposed to make you feel like you’re sick and dying, and mad enough to hit someone and drunk with joy, and your heart’s a boulder n your chest trying to burst into a thousand pieces all at once?”
“Mm-hmm.” He finished his ale. “That would be love.

So you were good enough for the Cullach Gorrym, good enough to marry Dorelei mab Breidaia, good enough to beget Alba a successor, but not good enough for the Queen’s daughter?” Urist’s lips curled with scorn. The tip of his knife flicked upward. “Well, that’s what I think of that, lad.” The red yarn parted and fell.

That was the problem ... with trusting to the written word ... We were human, mortal and fallible. We forgot, we made errors, argued ambiguities, and twisted meanings to suit our own ends.

And in doing so, mayhap we reshaped the gods themselves.

To my surprise, Joscelin rose. ‘Phedre-’ He began, then halted. Sitting below him, I watched him smile to himself, quiet and private. ‘Phedre yields with a willow’s grace,’ he said softly. ‘And endures with the strength of mountains. Without her, life would be calm; and yet lack all meaning.

We forgot, we made errors, argued ambiguities, and twisted meanings to suit our own ends. And in so doing, mayhap we reshaped the gods themselves. Now

We might embody those qualities we desire to possess by embracing them, over and over, until the line between seeming and being is no more.