The Wistful Silence
The ink had not yet dried on the parchment when the first splinter of the oak ceiling gave way, a sound like a bone breaking inside the walls of the Blackwater Keep. It was a minor thing, a whisper of decay in the timber that had stood for three centuries, but to Silas Thorne, the Royal Courier of the Northern Reach, it sounded like a gunshot. He stood in the center of the Great Hall, his hands...
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