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355 pages, ebook
First published March 4, 2014
“A kestrel is a hunting hawk.”The second half of this book was exceedingly better than the first. The first was plagued with a rather weak, insipid heroine, an asshat of a "slave" who, seriously, did not act like a fucking slave at all, more like the king of a castle. I disagree with slavery (no shit...like anyone in their right mind would ever admit to agreeing with slavery), but the point is that within a book, the role is there to be played, and the so-called slave in this book was more in control than any slave I have ever imagined.
“Yes. The perfect name for a warrior girl.”
“Well.” His smile was slight, but it was there. “I suppose neither of us is the person we were believed we would become.”
“But when you are faced with only two choices— the military or marriage—don’t you wonder if there is a third, or a fourth, or more, even, than that?”She has a talent for music, she wants to play the piano...but it is a shameful talent, because music is not an option for a well-born young lady. Only slaves play music.
If the Herrani hadn’t prized music so highly before the war, that, too, might have changed things. But in the eyes of Valorian society, music was a pleasure to be taken, not made, and it didn’t occur to many that the making and the taking could be the same.One day, Kestrel is dragged to a slave auction. A young "brute" of a slave caught her eyes.
Kestrel drew in a shaky breath. Her bones felt watery. What had she done?Smith is a smith, or rather, a blacksmith. His real name is Arin.
The pointy-chinned woman snickered. “Looks like someone’s suffering the Winner’s Curse. The Winner’s Curse is when you come out on top of the bid, but only by paying a steep price.”
Shouldn’t she care? Didn’t she welcome Ronan’s attention?She doesn't. It is Arin who holds her thoughts.
"...she had no natural talent for fighting."Not only that, her skill is in being a military strategist. Kestrel has a brilliant mind for strategy. She chooses not to exercise it. She flaunts society's rules instead of helping her nation establish its dominance.
“Imagine how the empire would benefit if you truly worked with me,” he said, “and used that talent to secure its territories, instead of pulling apart the logic of customs that order our society.”She is indecisive about everything. She doesn't want to get married. She doesn't want a career. Kestrel is the sort of girl who just wants to float along in life doing whatever she fucking pleases, without consequence.
“Our customs are lies.” Kestrel’s fingers clenched the fragile stem of her glass.
“What did you say?” Arin whispered in Valorian. He was staring at Jess. “Of course you have no gods. You have no souls.”She doesn't do anything about his rudeness, his VERY PUBLIC rudeness.
Do you think you are the first? it read. The only Valorian to take a slave to her bed? Poor fool!Kestrel puts herself in danger for him, she puts herself up to a DUEL, risking her own life for a slave when all he would have gotten are lashes in punishment. She gives no thoughts to her father, to the fact that she is his only surviving relative, his heir. All she thinks about is saving fucking Arin's skin.
Let me tell you the rules.
Do not be so obvious.
His hands fell away. “You, too. What a stupid thing for you to do. Why did you do that? Why would you do such a stupid thing?”Bold words. It doesn't change the fact that her decision was was fucking stupid.
“You might not think of me as your friend,” Kestrel told Arin, “but I think of you as mine.”
“He has stolen something.”Nope, no mistake. He did something incredibly stupid that risks his entire mission for the love of a sentimental fucking book.
There must be some mistake. Arin was intelligent, far too canny to do something so dangerous. He must know what happened to Herrani thieves.
"Swallow your pride.”The Romance: Bleh. Bleeeeeeeeeh. I really wish there wasn't a love triangle. Especially when I sympathized so much with "the other guy." The really, really nice other guy about whom Kestrel can't be bothered to give a fuck. Ronan ;_;
“Maybe that’s not as easy for me as it is for you.”
He wheeled on her. “It’s not easy for me,” he said through his teeth. “You know that it’s not. What do you think I have had to swallow, these past ten years? What do you think I have had to do to survive?”
She tried to push away thoughts of Arin on the auction block, of the look in his eyes when he asked where his honor was, of him swearing at her guards in his tongue. She held Ronan more tightly, pressing her cheek against his chest.Thinking about someone else when you're in another guy's arms. DAMN YOU, KESTREL.
Why didn’t he come to her?I liked the fact that they are both willing to admit their faults, and I like the fact that they communicate. The romance in this book was adequate, and much more believable than in most YA fiction.
She could make him. If she sent an order, he would obey.
But she didn’t want his obedience. She wanted him to want to see her.
“Kestrel thought about how this might be what hurt the most.
That they had used something she loved against her."
Then she reminded herself bitterly that this was what curiosity had bought her: fifty keystones for a singer who refused to sing, a friend who wasn’t her friend, someone who was hers and yet would never be hers.
Why didn’t he come to her?
She could make him. If she sent an order, he would obey.
But she didn’t want his obedience. She wanted him to want to see her.
Kestrel flinched at this thought and the pain it brought with it.
She knew that even if everyone believed the wrong thing of her, they were also too close to being right.
“You might not think of me as your friend,” Kestrel told Arin, “but I think of you as mine.”
...
“But am I your enemy?” Arin crossed the space between them. Softly, he repeated, “Am I?”
…
“You’re not mine,” Arin said.
“Open your hands, Little Fists,” said Arin. “Open your eyes. I haven’t stolen his love for you. Look.” It was true that in the course of their conversation, Javelin had turned away from Arin, disappointed by the empty pocket. The horse nosed Kestrel’s shoulder. “See?” Arin said. “He knows the difference between an easy mark and his mistress.”
People in brightly lit places cannot see into the dark.
“Isn’t that what stories do, make real things fake, and fake things real?”