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“He visited the weavers and tailors with his brother, choosing garments with cuffs of feathers and exquisite embroidery, with collars as sharp as the points of his ears, and fabrics as soft as the tuft of his tail- a tail he tucked away, for it showed too much of what he schooled his face to hide. A poisonous flower displays its bright colours, a cobra flares its hood; predators ought not to shrink from extravagance. And that was what he was being polished and punished in to being.”

Quote by Holly Black

Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories

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Holly Black
Holly Black

Holly Black, born on November 10, 1971, is a renowned fantasy fiction writer from the United States. Her works are known for their unique imagination and profound emotional depth, which have won her a large fan base. more

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“He thought of one of those girls frowning over a book, pushing a lock of brown hair back over one oddly curved ear. He thought of the way she looked at him, brows narrowed in suspicion. Scornful and alert. Awake. Alive. He imagined her as a mindless servant and felt a rush of something he couldn't quite untangle- horror, and also a sort of terrible relief. No ensorcelled human could look at him as she did.”

ThoughtHolly BlackThe Folk Of The AirJude DuarteCardan GreenbriarJudeCardanLookingConfusing Thoughts
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The odd curve of her ear was what he had noticed first. A roundness echoed in her cheeks and her mouth. Then it was the way her body looked solid, as though meant to take up space and weight in the world. When she moved, she left behind footprints in the forest floor. Because she didn't know how to glide silently, to disturb no leaf of branch. He felt smug to see how bad she was at even such an easy thing. It was only later that it disturbed him to think back on the shape of her boot in the soil, as though she was the only real thing in a land of ghosts. He had seen her before, he supposed. But at the palace school, he really looked. He noted her skirts, spattered with mud, and her hair ribbons, partially undone. He saw her twin sister, her double, as though one of them were a changeling child and not human at all. He saw the way they whispered together while they ate, smiling over private jokes. He saw the way they answered the instructors, as though they had any right to this knowledge, had any right to be sitting among their betters. To occasionally better their betters with those answers. And the one girl was good with a sword, instructed personally by the Grand General, as though she was not some by-blow of a faithless wife.”

Holly BlackThe Folk Of The AirJude DuarteObservingCardan GreenbriarJudeCardanNoticingWatching
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The seeds of Prince Cardan's resentment came full bloom. What was the point of her trying so hard? Why would she work like that when it would never win her anything? ... He had never tried like that for anything in his life. Jude, Cardan though, hating even the shape of her name. Jude.”

LustHolly BlackResentmentThe Folk Of The AirJude DuarteCardan GreenbriarJudeCardanTrying Hard
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The weight of the sea seemed to pass down on him. He no longer had a sense of up or down. One was always suspended, fighting against the current or giving in to it. There would be no lying on beds of moss, no barbed words easily spoken, no falling down from too much wine, no dancing at all.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“Rhyia leaned over and pushed a fallen strand of his hair back over one of his ears. 'Take it.' 'You want me to have it?' he asked, just to be sure. He wondered what he'd done that was worthy of being commemorated with a present. 'I thought you could use a little nonsense,' she told him, which worried him a little.”

WorriedNonsenseHolly BlackPresentThe Folk Of The AirCardan GreenbriarCardanSiblingsRhyia Greenbriar
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“One of Locke's finest qualities was his ability to recast all their lowliest exploits as worthy of a ballad, told and retold until Cardan could almost believe that staggeringly better or thrillingly worse version of events. He could no more lie than any of the Folk, but stories were the closest thing to lies the Folk could tell.”

StoriesDramaticHolly BlackThe Folk Of The AirCardan GreenbriarCardanLockeBalladOverdramatic
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“I would have my room,' Cardan said, narrowing his eyes and assuming his most superior pose. 'Perhaps you two might take whatever this is elsewhere.' Part of him thought she would laugh, having known him before he perfected his sneer, but she shrank under his gaze. Locke stood up, putting on his pants. 'Oh, don't be like that. We're all friends here.' Cardan's practiced demeanour went up in smoke. He became the snarling feral child that had prowled the palace, stealing from tables, unkempt and unloved. Launching himself at Locke, he bore him to the floor. They collapsed in a heap. Cardan punched, hitting Locke somewhere between the eye and the cheekbone. 'Stop telling me who I am,' he snarled, teeth bared. 'I am tired of your stories.' Locke tried to knock Cardan off him. But Cardan had the advantage, and he used it to wrap his hands around Locke's throat. Maybe he really was still drunk. He felt giddy and dizzy all at once. 'You're going to really hurt him!' Nicasia shouted, hitting Cardan's shoulder and then, when that didn't work, trying to haul him off the other boy. Locke made a wordless sound, and Cardan realised he was pressing so tightly on his windpipe that he couldn't speak. Cardan dropped his hands away. Locke choked, gasping for air. 'Create some tale about this,' Cardan shouted, adrenaline still fizzing through his bloodstream. 'Fine,' Locke finally managed, his voice strange. 'Fine, you mad, hedge-born coxcomb. But you were only together out of habit; otherwise, it wouldn't have been so easy to make her love me.' Cardan punched him. This time, Locke swung back, catching Cardan on the side of the head. They rolled around, hitting each other, until Locke scuttled back and made it to his feet. He ran for the door, Cardan right behind. 'You are both fools,' Nicasia shouted after them.”

Holly BlackFightThe Folk Of The AirCardan GreenbriarFuryCardanLockeNicasiaBrawl
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“One of her hands was at her hip, touching her belt, as though she might draw the weapon sheathed there. The idea was hilarious, He certainly hadn't buckled on a sword in preparation for coming here. He wasn't even sure he could stay standing long enough to swing, and he had only beaten her when he was sober because she let him. Jude looked up at him, and in her eyes, he recognised a hate big enough and wide enough and deep enough to match his own. A hate you could drown in like a vat of wine. Too late to hide it, she lowered her head in the pretense of defence. Impossible, Cardan thought. What had she to be angry about, she who had been given everything he was denied? Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps he wanted to see his reflection on someone else's face and had perversely chosen hers. With a whoop, he rode in her direction, just to watch her and her sister run. Just to show her that if she did hate him, her hatred was as impotent as his own.”

HatredAngryDrunkHolly BlackThe Folk Of The AirJude DuarteCardan GreenbriarJudeCardan
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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