Hockstetter knows all the best places to hide. What else are friends for?
Henry Bolingbroke is an absurdly youthful jousting champion and a man of few words. But his cousin is King of England, so that has to count for something.
Unpleasant things happen to Jim Halsey, several times in a row but not in any particular order.
He wonders, for all the seconds it takes for Tang Fan to start to move, if he’s fallen asleep again. He’s not convinced it is at all possible for him to have a dream as odd as this, as ominous, as wonderful. The Tang Fan that is trying to kick his bare feet beneath the lifted linens while all the heat Sui Zhou’s body has pressed into them escapes is too wholly fleshed out to be one of Sui Zhou’s fantasies.
Hal gets stabbed; Hickey gets invasive.
In the wake of Qingming’s revelation, the night bleeds out into a sombre quiet.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law: attorneys are denied me.
Henry of Lancaster has had ample time to think over what he wants and what he intends to do. Not that this is a whole lot of help.
"You're a landsman at heart, but that can change."
How many nights has he entertained this very vision of Tang Fan, all lean long lines and li after li of smooth skin? Most, in some shape or another, since Tang Fan first stormed into his life and made his home in what wreckage he found there. Too many, but so few. To have it now, real enough to see, too far from reach to touch— it’s agony.
If Jiang Cheng kills him here — so long as he sits with Wei Wuxian’s body in this field until he grows cold, and he does not return to Lotus Pier — his life will have been worth its cost.