Цитаты из книги Nevernight

"We are killers, you and I," he said. "Killers one, killers all. And each death we bring is a prayer. An offering to Our lady of Blessed Murder. Death as a mercy. Death as a warning. Death as an end unto itself. All of these, ours to know and gift unto the world. The wolf does not pity the lamb. The storm begs no forgiveness of the drwoned." He searched her eyes again, his voice thrumming in her breast as he spoke. "But first and foremost, we are servants. Disciples. Surrounded by foes. Loyal unto the death. We do not bend and we do not break. Ever. This is the truth you learn in this cell. This is the first answer to any question of self you might ask. And if it does not sit well wit you, Acolyte, if you think perhaps you have made a mistake in coming to us, now is the time to speak."

"Beyond your skill with steel or venom or flesh, there is one virtue we must ensure each and every disciple of the Red Church possesses in abundance." Mia looked the Black Prince in the eye. Her hands trembling. "Loyalty," she whispered. Cassius inclined his head. "The Red Church prides itself in its reputation. No contract ever undertaken by this congregation has remained unfulfilled. No disciple has ever revealed a secret to those who hunt us. Every year, we bring new faces into the flock, sharpen you to the keenest edge. But as honed as they may appear, some blades are simply made of glass." "Glass?" "A shard of glass can slice a man`s throat. Pierce his heart clean. Open his wrists to the bone. But press it in the wrong place, glass will shatter. Iron will not."

"They only changed what I look like. I`m still the person I was yesterturn. Inside." "That is how it begins. The weaving is only the first of it. The butterfly remembers being the caterpillar. But do you think it feels anything but pity for that thing crawling in the much? Once it has spread those beautiful wings and learned to fly?" "I`m no butterfly, Naev." The woman placed a hand on Mia`s arm. "This place gives much. But it takes much more. They may make her beautiful on the outside, but inside, they aim to shape a horror. So if there is some part of herself that truly matters, hold it close, Mia Corvere. Hold it tight. She should ask herself what she will give to get the things she wants. And what she will keep. For when we feed another to the Maw, we feed it a part of ourselves, also. And soon enough, there is nothing else." "I know who I am. What I am. I`ll never forget. Never." Naev pointed to the stone statue above them. The pitiless black eyes. The robes mde of night. The sword clutched in a pale right hand. "She is a goddess, Mia. Between and beyond anything else, you are Hers, now."

"Marielle..." Mia breathed. The flesh weaver. It all made sense now. Aalea`s unearthly beauty. Mouser`s young face and old eyes. Even the Revered Mother`s facade of homely warmth. She understood the кщщьёы name at last. The Hall of Masks. Daughters, it might apply to the entire Mountain. Killers within — killers all — hiding behind facades not of ceramic or wood, but flesh. Beauty. Youth. Soft maternity. How better to maintain a cadre of anonymous assassins than by reshaping their faces whenver the need struck? How better to seduce a mark or blend into a crowd or be met and instantly forgotten than by crafting a face suited to the task? How better to make us forget who we were, and shape us into what they want us to be? Flawed as it might be in others` eyes, this was her face. Mia wasn`t sure how she felt about these people taking it away... Own nothing, Mercurio had said. Know nothing. Be nothing. Mia breathed deep. Swallowed hard. Because then you can do anything. "Come," Aalea said. "The weaver awaits."

"It may not be right," Aalea said. "It may not be just. But this is a world of senators and consuls and Luminatii — of republics and cults and institutions built and maintained almost entirely by men. And it, love is a weapon. Sex is a weapon. Your eyes? Your body? Your smile?" She shrugged. "Weapons. And they give you more power than a thousand swords. Open more gates than a thousand War Walkers. Love has toppled kings, Mia. Ended empires. Even broken our poor, sunsburned sky." The Shahiid reached out a hand, brushed a stray hair from Mia`s cheek. "They will never see the knife in your hand if they are lost in your eyes. They will never taste the poison in their wine when they are drunk on the sight of you." A small shrug. "Beauty simply makes it easier, love. Easier than you have it now. It may be sad. It may be wrong. But it is also true."

"...What exactly do you teach here?" "The soft touch. The lingering stare. Whispered nothings that mean everything. These are the weapons I shall give you." "I prefer steel, if it`s all the same," Mia frowned. "Quicker and more honest." Aalea laughed. "And what if you need information to fulfill an offering? If your mark is in hiding, their location known only to a trusted servant? Or you need to acquire a password to access a gathering at which your mark will be present? The trust of a woman who can lead you to your kill? How will steel serve you then?" "I`m told hot coals work wonders in those situations." "Warm skin serves better still. And leaves fewer scars."

She headed off into the dark, still queasy, the burning circles in her eyes slowly fading. Thinking perhaps there might be one within these halls who had the answers she needed. But when she arrived at the athenaeum`s towering doors, she found them firmly closed. She knocked, called loudly for the chronicler. Met only with silence. Sighing, Mia slumped back against the doors. Fishing a thin silver box our of her sling, she lit a cigarillo. Breathed gray. Three suns burning behind her eyes. Questions ever burning in her mind. But if she were to find the truth of herself, it seemed she`d have to find it alone. The shadows stirred at her feet. A soft voice whispered in the dark. "...never alone..."

Mia stepped inside, and for the third time that turn, felt her lungs bid her breath farewell. She stood on a mezzanine overlooking a dark wood — a forest of ornate shelves, laid out like a garden maze. And on each shelf stood books. Piles of books. Mountains of books. Oceans and oceans of books. Books of stained vellum and fresh parchment. Books bound in leater and wood and leaves, locked books and dusty books, books as thick as her waist and as tiny as her fist. Mia`s eyes were alight, fingernails denting the wooden railing. "Naev, don`t let me down there," she breathed. "Why not?" "You`ll never see me again..." "Truer words never spoken," said a rasping voice. "Depending what aisle you picked."