The Faded Root
The feast in the Great Hall of Blackwood Manor smelled of roasted boar and stale lavender, a thick, cloying perfume that seemed to settle into the wool of my tunic and stick to the back of my throat. I sat in the shadows near the hearth, my hands wrapped around a clay cup of ale that had gone warm and flat, watching the light from the tallow candles flicker against the stone walls. In my lap,...
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