Who are you?” Mal asked furiously.“That’s a complicated question.”“Actually, it’s pretty straightforward,” I said, springing to my feet. “But it does require telling the truth. Something you seem thoroughly incapable of.”“Oh, I can do it,” Sturmhond said, shaking water from one of his boots. “I’m just not very good at it.

I have so many good qualities," Sturmhond said, "It can be hard to choose.

You never know," said Nikolai. "I've been busy. I might have some surprises in store for the Darkling yet.""Please tell me you plan to dress up as a volcra and jump out of a cake.""Well, now you've ruined the surprise.

Anything worth doing always starts as a bad idea.

Alina, I'll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. Whatever seems most fitting at the time.""Are you still here?" snapped Baghra."I go but hope to remain in your heart," he said solemnly. Then he winked and disappeared.

My mother was an oyster,” he said with a wink. “And I’m the pearl.

Do good works or commission an opera house or just take it out and gaze at it longingly when you think of the handsome prince you might have made your own. For the record, I favor the latter option, preferably paired with copious tears and the recitation of bad poetry.

What are you two doing barefoot and half naked in the mud?" asked a familiar voice. "Looking for truffles, I hope?

Why does your weak king send a filthy pirate to do his bidding?” sneered the Fjerdan ambassador, his words echoing across the cathedral.“Privateer,” corrected Sturmhond. “I suppose he thought my good looks would give me the advantage. Not a concern where you’re from, I take it?”“Preening, ridiculous peacock. You stink of Grisha foulness.” Sturmhond sniffed the air. “I’m amazed you can detect anything over the reek of ice and inbreeding.