BeguilementPaperback - 2007
"Bujold builds a better fantasy romance with compelling characters and the fascinating clash between their cultures, she a farmer's daughter, he an adventurer on the trail of a deadly demon."--Locus
One of the most respected writers in the field of speculative fiction, Lois McMaster Bujold has won numerous accolades and awards, including the Nebula and Locus Awards as well as the fantasy and science fiction genre's most prestigious honor, the Hugo Award for Best Novel, four times (most recently for Paladin of Souls). With The Sharing Knife series, Bujold creates a brand new world fraught with peril, and spins an extraordinary romance between a young farm girl and the brave sorcerer-soldier entrusted with the defense of the land against a plague of vicious malevolent beings. Meet Fawn Bluefield and Dag Redwing Hickory in Beguilement, the first book in Bujold's unforgettable four-volume fantasy saga, and witness the birth of their dangerous romance--a love threatened by prejudice and perilous magic, and by Dag's sworn duty as Lakewalker patroller and necromancer.
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She stifled her longing to lean her head into his chest and just stand there for, oh, say, about a week.
Tough, tough old woman – absent gods, we loved her. Preferably from a safe distance, but there’s one like that in every family, I think.
Once upon a time, there was supposed to have been a chain of lakes, not just the big dead one. With a league of seven beautiful cities around them, commanded by great sorcerer-lords, and a sorcerer king, and princesses and bold warriors and sailors and captains and who knows what all. With tall towers and beautiful gardens and jeweled singing birds and magical animals and holy whatnot, and the gods’ blessings flowing like the fountains, and gods popping in and out of people’s lives in a way that I would find downright unnerving, I’m pretty sure.
He wasn’t sure if it was worse to be loved yet not valued than valued but not loved, but surely it was better to be both.
p. 63 Fawn’s skirt and the front of Dag’s trousers were soaked in too-bright blood. “Oh,” said Fawn in a mortified voice, when he’d swung her down from the horse and slid after her. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Dag raised what he hoped was an admirably calm eyebrow. “What? It’s just blood, Little Spark. I’ve dealt with more blood in my time than you have in your whole bitty body.” Which was where this red tide should be, blast and blight it. […]“Why is this happening?” […] He hesitated. Yes, she was young, but surely—“Don’t you know?” She glanced up at him. The bruise masking the left side of her face was darkening to purple, the gouges scabbing over. “Yes,” she whispered. She steadied her voice by sheer force of will, he thought. “But […] I was hoping you might…have a different answer. Stupid of me.” “The malice did something to you […] It stole your baby’s ground. It would have used it in its next molt, but we killed it first.” And I was too late to stop it.
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