The end of Jhereg:
More than our apartment, more than my office, the library at Castle Black has seemed like home base to me. How many times in the past had Morrolan and I, or Morrolan, myself, and Aliera, or a host of others, sat in this room and said some form of "Thank Verra, it's over."
"Thank Verra, it's over," said Aliera.
I lay on my back on the lounge chair. As I said, Aliera was good, but it takes time to heal completely. My sides still ached, and my head gave me no end of trouble. Still, in the three days since Mellar had passed from among the living, and the two days since I'd met with the Demon to arrange for nine million gold to be returned (and to insure that no more attempts were going to be made on my life), I had pretty well made the transition back to humanity.
Not that I am disappointed in the books Steven Brust has written since--no, no, not at all! But I do feel a certain regret: I read this as a promise that Brust would go on and write half-a-dozen or so medieval fantasy noir puzzle books starring Vlad, Morrolan, Aliera, Cawti, and company. And I was looking forward to them. And now I know I will never read them.
I feel as if I had been promised free vanilla ice cream, and it has never materialized. (Of course, what has materialized is free tiramisu, lots and lots of tiramisu...