The pillars of creation (sot-7) by Terry Goodkind

Author:Terry Goodkind [Goodkind, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy
ISBN: 978-0-7653-4074-0
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2002-03-18T05:00:00+00:00

Jennsen nodded. "I'm glad to hear that it wasn't done out of duty."

That made him smile and eased the tension.

"No duty ever felt that good," he said.

Together, they laughed-something she couldn't even remember doing. It felt good to laugh.

As Jennsen devoured one of the meat pies, relishing the flavorful spices and savory chunks of meat, she felt good again. She hoped she hadn't been too hard on Tom for forgetting about Betty. She had let her frustrations, fear, and anger come out at him. He was a good man. He had helped her when she needed it most.

Her thoughts lingered on Tom, on how good she had felt when she was around him. He made her feel important, feel confident in herself, whereas Sebastian often made her feel humble. Tom had a handsome smile-a different kind of handsome than Sebastian's smile. Tom had a hearty smile. Sebastian had an inscrutable smile. Tom's smile made her feel secure and strong. Sebastian's smile made her feel defenseless and weak.

After she had eaten every crumb of the meat pie, Jennsen wrapped herself in blankets over the top of her cloak. Still shivering, she remembered how Betty had kept them warm at night. In the silence, her sense of gloom returned to haunt her, refusing to allow her to fall asleep, despite her exhaustion from everything she had been through the last couple of days.

She didn't look forward to the forlorn prospect of what the future might hold for her. She could foresee only an endless hunt until Lord Rahl's men finally caught her. She felt empty without her mother, without Betty. She realized that she didn't have any idea where she would go, now, other than to keep running. She had been intent on Althea's help, but even that had proved to be an empty dream. In some distant comer of her mind, Jennsen had held out a spark of irrational hope that going to her childhood home of the People's Palace might somehow hold a favorable resolution.

She shivered not only with the cold, but with the bleak prospect of what the future held.

Sebastian inched his back up close to her, protecting her from the wind. The idea of it being more than duty to him was a comfort. She thought about what it felt like to have his body pressed against the length of her. She thought about the intoxicating feel of his mouth against hers.

His words that had so surprised her, "I've never laid my eyes on a woman as beautiful as you," still echoed around in her head. She wasn't sure that she believed him. Maybe she was afraid to believe him.

The first day she had met him he made several complimentary remarks, the first about how people might say the dead soldier saw a beautiful young woman strutting along and thus tripped and fell to his death, and then "Sebastian's rule," as he called it, giving her the dead soldier's ornate knife, saying beauty belonged with beauty. She had never trusted words offered so effortlessly.

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