Two of the freed Whites rose and went to the rack of torture tools. They made choices and then joined Lant, Spark, and Per, chipping away at the mortar. The irony twisted my gut. “And we will live happily ever after?” the Fool asked. I watched the bits of mortar fall. “That is my intention.” “And mine. My hope. But a thin one.” “Don’t doubt us, or we are lost.” “Fitz, my love, that is the problem. I do not doubt Bee’s dreams at all.”
sharts
