Blackfeather Woods I'll stop wearing black when they make a darker colour

"Not weird," countered Ramsay, who really had no frame of reference for boundaries or social norms. Blackfeather Woods wasn't the place to grow up if you wanted to live any sort of normal life. He was no exception to that; Ramsay's concept of right and wrong was as twisted as his body by the circumstances of his birth and upbringing, such that having children with his sister seemed like a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Not that he planned to.

She wasn't far off in assuming that Ramsay would have a similar visceral reaction to mention of Potema. Luckily, Ramsay had never seen their mother again, so the pain of her abandonment—and the cold way he had sliced the title cleanly from her in his mind—didn't rattle him as much as it had rattled their brother. "She is no mother," he reminded her coolly, "and she is not smart. You are smart. You should know better."

Potema had alienated her three youngest children to the point of making at least two of them want to kill her, or at least see her dead—that, Ramsay thought, was probably the stupidest thing any mother could ever do. Her lofty position as a priestess meant nothing to him, not like it meant something to Maegi, so he couldn't see past Potema's poor treatment to catch his sister's meaning.