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Quote by Holly Black

“For a moment, I stare at him stupidly. I am reeling from the kiss, from the swiftness of the violence. I am not yet used to Oak's ability to kill without hesitation and then chagrined about it, as though he did something in slightly poor taste. Spilled a rare vintage of wine, perhaps. Mismatched his trousers to his shirt.”

Quote by Holly Black

Book:The Stolen Heir
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The Stolen Heir

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Author

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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“The wave vanished. Sunlight. A crunch of boots before me, the heat and whisper of mighty wings. A hand on my face, tilting up my chin as I stared and stared at the splattered ruin of the Attor. Violet eyes met mine. Rhys. Rhys was here. And... and I had... He leaned forward, his brow sweat-coated, his breathing uneven. He gently pressed a kiss to my mouth. To remind us both. Who we were, what we were. My icy heart thawed, the fire in my gut was soothed by a tendril of dark, and the water trickled out of my veins and back into the Sidra. Rhys pulled back, his thumb stroking my cheek. People were weeping. Keening. But no more screams of terror. No more bloodshed and destruction. My mate murmured, 'Feyre Cursebreaker, the Defender of the Rainbow.' I slid my arms around his waist and sobbed. And even as his city wailed, the High Lord of the Night Court held me until I could at last face this blood-drenched new world.”

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“Wendell was no sooner gazing at the silver sewing needles than he was brushing away a tear. "They are like my father's," he said wonderingly. "I remember the flicker of them in the darkness as we all sat together by the ghealach fire, with the trees surrounding us. He would bring them everywhere, even the Hunt of the Frostveiling---that is the first hunt of autumn, the largest of the year, when even the queen and her children roam through the wilds with spears and swords, riding our best---oh, I don't know what you would call them in your language. They are a kind of faerie fox, black and golden together, which grow larger than horses. My brothers and sisters and I would crowd round the fire to watch him weave nets from brambles and spidersilk. And all the moorbeasts and hag-headed deer would cower at the sight of those nets, though they barely blinked at the whistle of our arrows." He fell silent, gazing at them with his eyes gone very green. "Well," I said, predictably at a loss for an answer to this, "I hope they are of use to you. Only keep them away from any garments of mine." He took my hand, and then, before I knew what he was doing, lifted it to his mouth. I felt the briefest brush of his lips against my skin, and then he had released me and was back to exclaiming over his gifts. I turned and went into the kitchen in an aimless haste, looking for something to do, anything that might distract me from the warmth that had trailed up my arm like an errant summer breeze”

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Book:Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries
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