Sara

“I'm not fucking dead," I said, which wasn't even true, and I was choking up; everything I'd ever done, everything I'd ever been through, and I was choking up.
As the Emperor of the Nine Houses, the Necrolord Prime, stood from his chair to look at you-- at me; looked at your face, looked at my eyes in your face. It took, maybe, a million myriads. The static in your ears resolved into wordless screaming his expression was just--gently quizzical; mildly awed.
"Hi, Not Fucking Dead," he said. "I'm Dad.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Harrow the Ninth

“My whole life, yes. Yes, forever, yes. Life is too short and love is too long.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

“You’re only boobs, hair, and talk, Crown,” said the guard.

“No,” said Crown. “I’m boobs and hair and talk and a hell of a sword hand.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

“Okay. What do you think is sexy?”
Nona cheered up immediately at being asked.
“The huge old poster up on the side of the building at the end of the street—the one the dairy’s in. The old poster for shampoo.”
Camilla looked at her for a few seconds too many. “The painting of the two flowers,” she said.
“I think they’re very sexy flowers,” said Nona. “All right, your turn! Tell me what you think is sexy.”
“Eating breakfast,” said Camilla.
Nona lifted up her voice in despair. “You don’t. It’s not fair. We’re having a heart-to-heart, I’m sharing deep personal thoughts, and you just want me to eat.”
“Yes. I’m going to talk to the Warden.”
“Well, ask him what he thinks is sexy.”
“No. I already know.”
That made sense. “Tell me! I’ll eat the whole thing if you tell me,” said Nona, enchanted, starting to pull on her trousers but deeply distracted. “Oh, Cam, please, please. I’ve been so good lately. And when I haven’t been good it hasn’t been because I haven’t tried. Yesterday was awful. I need to know—I know it’ll help my memory. It’s like a deep need inside of me, it must be my real self wanting to know, right? So this is work, right? What does Palamedes find sexy?”
Camilla took up the clipboard and the pen and wrote, serene and tranquil, underlining something once—twice.
“Strong work ethic,” she said eventually. “High test scores.”
Nona buttoned up her shirt and wriggled on one sock, then the other, contemplating this. “Okay,” she said. “Wow.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth