Jesteśmy społecznością, która kocha książki

But Vinyë, as she escorted him down to the front door, said softly: "You always read in Ystharian novels about the loyal servants who devote their lives to their noble masters. But it’s always from the perspective of the masters. You forget that the loyal and devoted servants must have come from somewhere...".

What kind of business do you think I am running, that I should just give you, a foreigner no less, the materials to set up as my rival?"

Commander Omo opened his mouth, then glanced at his Radiancy, who had made a gesture Cliopher couldn’t quite see, and subsided.

"I think you are exaggerating, woodcarver."

"Exaggerating? Me?" Eldoshi banged his chest. "This is my blood, my sweat, my livelihood!"

His Radiancy raised one eyebrow. "Ludvic has asked you for a few scraps and a carving knife. If you think he could set up as your rival with that, well, perhaps you should rethink your business model".

The trouble with pretending to have no emotions beyond a vague benevolence is that after a while you start to believe your lies. But that I do not display my emotions does not mean I do not have them. Oh, no," he added a little more softly, "it does not indeed. Benevolent I think I can generally claim to be, but calm, disinterested, and serene I am not".

I suppose we always hope that those closest to us can see into our hearts—but unless we invite them, or show them in words or deeds, how can they?

I fought for years to sit outside and to have one hour of privacy a day. I should have kept fighting—but it is much more comfortable not to."
His voice dropped. "I never thought I would be the person who chose what is comfortable".

His voice was eerily calm and reasonable, sounding as he did any day, any moment of any day, whether they were discussing lunch or typhoons or laws or some diplomatic squabble former lieges had written to him to solve.

Or sounding as he had every day until they had found the harp in the secret closet and gone to the village, and his Radiancy had found enthusiasm and delight and become almost unrecognizably alive.

Hmm. Ah! Let us go ask the cook."
And off he swept towards the servant wing.
"My lord," Conju said as his Radiancy reached the closed door to the wing and looked at it as if he expected it to open for him. (As, indeed, most doors did).
"Well?"
Conju set his hand on the door. "They do not know who your lordship is."
His Radiancy lifted his eyebrows. "All the better."
"My lord, they will not know how to behave."
Most likely he meant, Your Radiancy will not know how to behave. But that was not something any of them would ever say.
His Radiancy smiled serenely. "I will not hold their ignorance against them".

He was not an artist of anything but the hidden intricacies underlying government bureaucracy, and no one else actually cared whether those were beautiful or not.

My name is Cliopher Mdang of Tahivoa. My island is Loaloa. My dance is Aōteketētana. From the feet of the Sun I will bring home the fire.

Cliopher took a deep breath, met the lion eyes once more, and a feeling of wild abandon to the unknown pushed him over the edge.

"I may not touch you. I may not kiss you or embrace you or grasp your arms or your knees or your feet as I can all my cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. I may not lay my hand on your shoulder when you are sad or clasp your hands with you when you are jubilant… but my lord, my… Tor… if you were my brother or my cousin I could not love you more."

His Radiancy stared at him with a face utterly drained of expression. It occurred to Cliopher then that it was possible no one had ever said that to him, to the inner man, before.

He thought of his lord, pacing in his study, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. Thought of how well they worked together, the enmeshing of respect and knowledge and good humour and experience. Thought of leaving his lord to the court.
(...) Thought of his lord, never failing to do his duty.
Thought of his lord, with no one to joke with him.
Thought of losing that—he could not call it friendship, could he? That implied a kind of equality, and there was no equality possible between the Sun-on-Earth and anyone else.
But call it a relationship, that was permissible.
He suppressed the wish that he dared call his Radiancy his friend.

His Radiancy brushed more dust off the cover with fastidious fingers. "Now, let us see... A Further Volume of Pious Tales for Young Children... It seems unlikely one would trouble to hide that in a secret cupboard... Aha!"

Cliopher’s curiosity got the better of him. "What is it, my lord?"

His Radiancy turned the opened book so he could see the interior title page. It said, Aurora, or the Peacock; being a grand tale of romance, courtesy, and derring-do, by the one and only Fitzroy Angursell.

After a long moment his Radiancy grinned—actually grinned. "I wonder if it is still worthy of being banned?".