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Quote by Stephanie Laurens

“Delicate, hauntingly uncertain music floated out of the house. Vane heard it as he walked up from the stables. The lilting strains reached him, then wrapped about him, about his mind, sinking into his senses. They were a siren's song- and he knew precisely who was singing. Halting on the graveled drive before the stable arch, he listened to the moody air. It drew him- he could feel the tug as if it was physical. The music spoke- of need, of restless frustration, of underlying rebellion.”

Quote by Stephanie Laurens

Work

A Rake's Vow

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Author

Stephanie Laurens
Stephanie Laurens

Stephanie Laurens, born on August 14, 1953, is a British historical fiction author. Her works are set in 18th-century England and depict love, adventure, and the life of the aristocracy of that era. Laurens' novels have been highly popular with readers and have won numerous literary awards. more

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“Everything clicked. Her notes and my notes, we even deviated from the song, and as Tanis hummed her melody, I felt compelled to sing around it, my tones dancing up and down and intertwining in a compliment to hers. It was a moment I’d never forget no matter how long I lived, the feeling of puzzle pieces sliding into place. I knew I was a siren; the evidence had stacked so high by now, and of course I was getting along well, fitting in with the others at the House of Sirens. But this, this sealed the deal. This was my one true link to this world and my heritage. Tanis didn’t take her eyes off of me, even when tears began to run down her face. What had she gone through? Thinking she’d lost her baby, the illness that took her health and her voice. Enough to make her want to live in a house away from everyone else and only do her work at the towers. As our song faded to an end, we all stood there. Calliope was in absolute shock, Caspian and Nikkos stayed silent. Tanis stared, her eyes reflecting mine with welling tears threatening to spill over that might not end if they began. But we couldn’t quite move past this part, Tanis and me. My mother and me. I was ready to love her. I was ready to hate her. I was ready to scream at whatever circumstances brought me to this point. What I could have had, what I didn’t have. Shaking, Tanis reached out a hand. To touch me. Maybe hold my hand, maybe to lead to a hug. But it was too much for me, and I took a step back, spilling the first tears. “Wait.” My voice tremored, and my hands balled into fists, grabbing my dress at my sides. Everyone paused, not a soul ready to move. Tanis looked ready to break, like a glass sculpture tipping too far forward. I just needed a minute, but I owed this connection to the both of us. “Okay,” I breathed, opening my arms. Tanis didn’t wait for a translation before flinging herself forward to wrap herself around me as tightly as she could. My hair, her hair, it was all the same color as our heads rested on one another’s shoulder. My tears fell on her, hers fell on me, and we would both surely be a mess after this, but no one was going to say anything. Not to us, not for what we had both missed out on.”

“[Charles the Fifth], pretty much every way worked to hold up the pillars of the medieval world order: monarchic power, domination by the Catholic Church, feudal land management, divine right, mercantile colonialization, and obedience to authority along the strict metaphysical line of the great chain of being.”

“The others cast themselves down upon the fragrant grass, but Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder. It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured for ever. He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful. In winter here no heart could mourn for summer or for spring. No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lórien, there was no stain.”