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“You brewed this?" Sanna cringed at the term brew, but didn't feel like going into the difference between brewing and fermenting- so she nodded and focused on her food. That way, she couldn't pay attention to how his long fingers held the glass in his hands as he studied the color. He may as well have been studying her. She felt exposed and naked as he took another sip. Did he like it? Hate it? Not everyone liked cider, and normally she didn't care. She didn't want to care now. Instead, she built the perfect forkful of Parmesan, lettuce, and crouton rather than watch him- but that didn't stop her from hearing the clink of glass on his teeth as he took a much longer sip. "That's astounding," he said. "It goes so much better with the meal than any red wine I've ever had." He smacked his lips and took another sip. "It really lets the food shine." Sanna had to respond. She couldn't ignore him no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn't keep eating, then escape with a plate of dessert to the loft as she usually did. She couldn't rewind time to the beginning of the summer when she only thought about the next cider she wanted to blend. Or ignore that the memory of him washing her hands after her dad's accident had played through her mind before she'd fallen asleep every night that week. "Thank you." That's all she could muster and hoped it would be enough. She could feel her father watching her, and Mrs. Dibble half listening to their very one-sided conversation. She sipped her own cider and enjoyed the burst of soothing rich brown that rushed her senses. Toasty really wasn't the right term. It was lush and alive, like peat or a balanced dark chocolate. "Sanna, this is amazing." His voice was soft and rumbling as he tried to keep the conversation from prying ears and eyes. When did their chairs become so close? They had an entire table. His voice in her ear was rich, just like the cider was in her throat. She couldn't help but look at him, and his face was so close. Everything about him was rich and balanced. He was the physical embodiment of this cider. Would she discover more layers the longer she knew him? He was close enough that the flecks of gold in his eyes sparkled at her like the cider's missing effervescence. He was close enough for her to smell the cider on his breath, the color of it making her light-headed and giddy.”

“You bribe the police?" Pandora whispered in surprise, mindful of being overheard. "It's a common practice." The information wasn't at all appropriate for a young lady's ears, which of course made it all the more fascinating. It was a glimpse of a side of life that was utterly foreign to her. "Thank you for being so frank with me," she asked spontaneously. "It's nice to be treated like an adult." With a quick, awkward laugh, she added, "Even if I don't always behave like one." "Being imaginative and playful doesn't make you any less of an adult," Gabriel said gently. "It only makes you a more interesting one." No one had ever said anything like that to her before, praising her faults as if they were virtues. Did he mean it?”

“You, Brigid, and Phoebe must begin the revolution." "Brigid?" The name didn't ring any bells. In a flash the serene flower child was gone. In her place was a pissed-off mom. "Oh, for fuck's sake," Flora said. "Your mother didn't tell you about Brigid?" "I guess not," Sybil replied. "Who is she?" Flora shook her head in disbelief. "Your aunt. She uses her father's last name, Laguerre, as a stage name." "Brigid Laguerre?" The shock sent Sybil's mind reeling. "Holy shit. That's why I was never allowed to see her movies? The Queen of the Dark is my aunt?" "Yes, and she'll be here on Wild Hill soon. Your mother will be coming as well." "Good," Sibyl said darkly. "I can't wait." "I'm expecting you to keep the peace when they get here." Sibyl refused with a shake of her head. "Me? Oh, hell no. I have a bone to pick with Mommy Dearest.”

“You bring up identity politics and I think that this is really causing a divide in the American left where we're rallying too much around identities. We should celebrate our heritage, we should organize by identity, but we shouldn't advocate and push for certain identities. We shouldn't talk about women suffrage, or plight of Muslims, or refugees; we should talk about our common American values.”

“You brought every bit of this upon yourself,' I said, my voice still soft. I didn't need to yell to convey my rage. I never had. 'You won,' he spat, sitting forward. 'You got your mate. Is that not enough?' 'No.' The word echoed through the library. 'You nearly destroyed her. In every way possible.' Tamlin bared his teeth. I bared mine back, temper be damned. Let some of power rumble through the room, the house, the grounds. 'She survived it, though. Survived you. And you still felt the need to humiliate her, belittle her. If you meant to win her back, old friend, that wasn't the wisest route.' 'Get out.' I wasn't finished. Not even close. 'You deserve everything that has befallen you. You deserve this pathetic, empty house, your ravaged lands. I don't care if you offered that kernel of life to save me, I don't care if you still love my mate. I don't care that you saved her from Hybern, or a thousand enemies before that.' The words poured out, cold and steady. 'I hope you live the rest of your miserable life alone here. It's a far more satisfying end than slaughtering you.' Feyre had once arrived at the same decision. I'd agreed with her then, still did, but now I truly understood.”