She hesitates only for a moment, the names well rehearsed in her mind as she repeats them to herself daily. "Lancelot. Clarisse La Rue. Tarz. The Marquis and Marchionesses of the White Citadel."
There's a flicker in her eyes when she says them, and Katsa refuses to tell Javik of all people that at least one one of those Marchionesses is a friend she will never kill. But she has the sense to keep her voice low for his ears alone, and she checks the room around them—their space in the corner, the noise level of voices surrounding them, the people going in and out the doors—before she continues.
"As long as their replacements have the same will to continue in the same way, then I'll kill them just the same. I know my purpose. I do not have to be anyone's tool, no weapon for someone else; but there are somethings that only I should do, the hard realities that will spare others. That's what's best for me."
no subject
There's a flicker in her eyes when she says them, and Katsa refuses to tell Javik of all people that at least one one of those Marchionesses is a friend she will never kill. But she has the sense to keep her voice low for his ears alone, and she checks the room around them—their space in the corner, the noise level of voices surrounding them, the people going in and out the doors—before she continues.
"As long as their replacements have the same will to continue in the same way, then I'll kill them just the same. I know my purpose. I do not have to be anyone's tool, no weapon for someone else; but there are somethings that only I should do, the hard realities that will spare others. That's what's best for me."