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Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

This book delves into the fascinating world of human cadavers, examining their use in medical training, scientific research, and forensic investigations. It provides an intimate look at the lives of cadavers and the professionals who study them, offering a unique perspective on the intersection of science, ethics, and human curiosity. more

Author

Mary Roach
Mary Roach

Mary Roach is an American author known for her in-depth exploration of science and technology. Her works are characterized by their humorous and accessible presentation of complex concepts, covering topics such as space exploration, medicine, death, and religion. Roach's books have received high praise from both academic and general readers. more

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“Have you come to throw yourself on the mercy of the crown? Perhaps you hope the Queen of Elfhame will show leniency.' Madoc barks out a laugh, his gaze going to me. 'Daughter, every time I think you cannot rise any higher, you prove me wrong,' he says. 'And I a fool to wonder if you were even still alive.' 'I am alive,' I say. 'No thanks to you.”

“You were my guest until you drew your very fancy sword. Put it down and by my guest again.' 'Put it down?' says Madoc. 'Very well.' He slams it in to the floor of the brugh. A thunderous sound rocks the palace, a tremor that seems to go through the ground beneath us. The Folk scream. Grimsen cackles, clearly delighted with his own work. A crack forms on the floor, starting where the blade punctured the ground, the fissure widening as it moves toward the dais, splitting the stone. A moment before it reaches the throne, I realise what's about to happen and cover my mouth. Then the ancient throne of Elfhame cracks down the middle, its flowering branches turned in to splinters, its seat obliterated. Sap leaks from the rupture like blood from a wound. 'I have come to give that blade to you,' Madoc says over the screams. Cardan looks at the destruction of the throne in horror. 'Why?”

“Queen Mab created this crown to keep her descendants in power,' Cardan says. 'But vows should never be to a crown. They should be to a ruler. And they should be of your own free will. I am your king, and beside me stands my queen. But it is your choice whether or not to follow us. Your will shall be your own.' And with his bare hands, he cracks the Blood Crown in two. It breaks like a child's toy, as though in his hands it was never made of metal at all, brittle as a wishbone. I think that I gasp, but it is possible that I scream.”

“We did not send for you, and we do not need you!' Randalin begins, clearly intending to give some servant- probably Fand- the tongue-lashing he wishes he could bestow on my person. Then he blanches and lurches to his feet. The High King stands in the doorway. His eyebrows rise, and a malicious smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. 'Many think that, but few are bold enough to say it to my face.”