"Migration can be triggered by the angle of sunlight, indicating a change in season, temperature, plant life, and food supply. Female monarchs lay eggs along the route. Every history has more than one thread, each thread a story of division. The journey takes four thousand eight hundred and thirty miles, more than the length of this country. The monarchs that fly south will not make it back north. Each departure, then, is final. Only their children return; only the future revisits the past."
e-kitap olarak okuyorum.
He was trying that angle...just to see her response to it.
Sadece onun tepkisini görmek için bu taktiği deniyordu.
His Plan
“Lord Aedan!” Auberon whirls. “Get your bannermen here and arrest
Malleus. My son as well. And then we will deal with the human-loving
peasant mob outside.”
Aedan lifts his chin. “I think I prefer to stay out of this, Your Majesty.
Like the Dream Stalker, I have a great aversion to unnecessary death.”
As he speaks, I recall the poisons in his bedroom with a shudder. Man
loves his poisons.
Auberon pounds the table. “My son thrives on death. What is the
meaning of this?”
Aedan stands. “I tend to agree with Prince Talan. The kingdom has been
mismanaged, and that is the cause of the unrest now.”
Every word planted in his brain by Talan long ago.
“This is treason!” Arwenna’s father, the Marquis de Bosclair, gets to his
feet. “You will do as our king demands.”
“I will not.” Aedan looks resolute. “It is time to take a stand.”
The marquis’s cheeks turn pink. “Once we’ve dealt with the
commoners, I will march my own armies against any noble who refused to
obey His Majesty. The king is correct. Any commoners marching on the
king are trying to aid our enemies. They’re working for the filthy humans
who spread the famine. They’re our enemy within our kingdom, and we
must deal with them the way we do any threat to the crown.”
“That’s nonsense.” Ker-Ys’s shrill voice rises. “They’re not helping the
humans, and they’re not demi-Fey. They’re just starving. I stand with Prince
Talan.”
And here before me, each strand of Talan’s plan weaves together in
perfect precision.
Months of whispering dreams into nobles’ ears, of sowing thoughts like
threads—now, his schemes stitch themselves into place, a tapestry worthy
of Elaine of Shalott’s loom. He’s even managed to construct it so that KerYs has looked like his enemy. For months, he’s been controlling Ker-Ys to
oppose him. Now, I realize, it
facts could be forgotten, truths suppressed, lives seen from only one angle like a trick prism, if only one resolved never to look too closely.
Hayat tekrar eder, insan tükenir.Alıntı
“Hüzünlerimizi tüketmiyoruz dünlerimizi tekrar ederken, hastalıklarımızdan kurtulup başımızdan atamıyoruz. Tükenen yalnızca biz oluyoruz ve her gün güç kaybediyoruz. Geçmişin izleri silinmiyor! Sevgili Angèle, ölümden korkuyorum! Yeniden yapmak zorunda kalmasak, hiçbir şeyi zamanın dışında tutamayacağız. Ayakta kalabilmek için artık bize ihtiyaç duymayan bir eser olsa.”
Angèle! Angèle! Size yalvarıyorum, beni ne zaman anlayacaksınız? Kitabın konusunu meydana getiren nedir? Hayatımın bana verdiği heyecan! İşte bunu anlatmak istiyorum: Sıkıntı, boşluk, monotonluk. Benim açımdan bir sorun yok, çünkü Batak’ı yazıyorum. Ama Tityre’in duyguları daha farklı… İnanın Angèle, bizim bakış açımız çok daha uyuşuk ve sıkıcı.”