The Wistful Throne
The bread was hard. That was the first thing Thomas noticed, the way a man in a dark room notices the texture of the wall before he sees the door. He held the loaf in his left hand, the crust coarse and gray, smelling of stale yeast and the damp stone of the cellar. It was the only food left for three days. "Is it safe?" asked a voice from the shadows. Thomas did not turn. He knew the voice. It...
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