Don’t remain silent about what you want, or you may never get it.”“You are very wise,” Kieran said gravely.“Well,” said Dru. “I actually saw that on a mug.”“Mugs in this world are very wise.

Family is more than blood.

Huh,” said Kit, thinking of the Cold Peace. “Are you a prisoner?”“No,” said the faerie. “I’m Mark’s lover.”Oh, Kit thought. The person he went into Faerie to save. He tried to stifle a look of amusement at the way faeries talked. Intellectually, he knew the word “lover” was part of traditional speech, but he couldn’t help it: He was from Los Angeles, and as far as he was concerned, Kieran had just said, Hello, I have sex with Mark Blackthorn. What about you?

A thousand rivers they had ridden over together, a thousand streams they had slept beside.

Love and hate had their own secret languages, and Mark and Kieran were speaking in them now.

A thousand dark nights spent riding with no home to arrive at.

Kieran glanced at her with shimmering eyes. Neither looked quite human: The black eye was too dark, the silver too metallic. And yet the overall effect was haunting, inhumanly beautiful.

Few of us are lucky enough ever to know the whole truth about anything.

Let me through, my Land, for I belong to you