The Wistful Show
The rain did not fall so much as it was driven horizontally into the stone, a gray curtain that blurred the boundary between the castle walls and the treacherous mud outside. Inside the Great Hall of Ashworth Keep, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool, tallow, and the metallic tang of old blood. Thomas Bradshaw, the King’s Master of Alchemical Supplies, stood by the hearth, his hands...
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