Queen of Attolia, chapter 3:
Attolia recoiled. Once, as a child, she’d thrown her slipper in a rage and had knocked an amphora of oil from its pedestal. The amphora had been a favorite of hers. It had smashed, and the scent of the hair oil inside had lingered for days. She remembered the scent still, though she didn’t know what in the stinking cell had brought it to mind. (...) She dismissed thoughts of the Thief lying on the floor of his cell, but found herself thinking instead of her favorite amphora, broken, and the oil spilled.
Queen of Attolia, chapter 12
Her thoughts circled back to the scent of the hair oil she’d used as a child. She’d broken the last amphora of it and then never used it again. That same day her older brother had died falling from his horse, and the familiar earth had seemed to shift under her feet. (...) Her dead mother’s jewelry was collected from her father’s concubines and brought to her. The combs in her hair [became] more ornamental, the earrings in her ears heavier, and her hair oils more expensively scented.
Queen of Attolia, chapter 20
That evening Attolia dismissed Chloe from her attendants, ordering the girl sent home to her father for no more than a clumsy accident. She had dropped a perfume spoon onto a tiny amphora, and the amphora had shattered. Attolia had risen to her feet, her rage making her seem as tall as the immortal goddess she had taken as a model. Chloe had stuttered an apology, but the queen had dismissed her and then left the room, stalking to her bedchamber without a backward look.
