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“All my life, she said, I have been told ‘go’ and come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.”

“At the heart of the crowd walked a girl with merry eyes, a floating violet in a sea of cut-velvet and silk hose, cloth-of-silver and the smell of myrrh, concentrating as she held her skirt clear of puddles. This was Anne, duchess regnant of Brittany, her hair caught back in a diadem and a pearl-studded crespine, though she wore no other jewels. They had all been sold to pay her garrisons.”

“There is no such thing as magic.” “But you just—” “Things are or they are not, Vasya,” he interrupted. “If you want something, it means you do not have it, it means that you do not believe it is there, which means it will never be there. The fire is or it is not . That which you call magic is simply not allowing the world to be other than as you will it.”

“Morozko shot the fire a glance and it leaped up, roaring. Vasya gratefully sank down onto her heap of boughs and warmed her hands. "Will you teach me to do magic, too?" she asked him. "To make fire with my eyes?" The fire flared sudden and harsh on the bones of Morozko's face. "There is no such things as magic" "But you just —" "Things are or they are not, Vasya," he interrupted. "If you want something, it means you do not have it, it means you do not believe it is there, which means that it will never be there. The fire is or it is not. That which you call magic is simply not allowing the world to be other than as you will it.”

“All around the table, voices seemed to drop; the name Brocéliande itself breathed out dark mystery. Men told wild tales of that ancient forest. That the fair-folk, the korriganed, had lived long in its shadows. That an unwary traveler might stray into the Lost Lands, only to vanish forever, or return a century hence, still young while his whole world had spun out from under his feet. And they also did say, with more force than mere rumor, that Brocéliande was one of the last, best places for men to hunt unicorns. A unicorn was the noblest and rarest prey in Christendom. The fire-drakes, if ever they had lived, had not been seen in living memory, and one could not hunt sea-drakes. Sea-drakes hunted men. At least, that's what seamen said when ships did not come back. But now and again, one heard credible tales of a unicorn.”