The Golden Mirror
You know how it feels when the air gets thin. Not the cold kind, not the altitude sickness that makes your head swim, but the kind that happens when a room is full of people who are all pretending not to see you. You are standing in the center of the Great Hall in York, and the stone walls are sweating. It is midsummer, but the air smells of old dust and damp wool. You are a Constable. You wear...
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