The Faded Alibi
The feast hall of the keep at Blackwood was not merely a room but a breathing entity, a vast cavern of stone and timber that had swallowed the smoke of ten thousand fires and the whispers of a thousand ghosts, and it was there, amidst the clatter of iron goblets and the roar of men whose voices shook the very lintels of the doorways, that Elias Thorne sat with his hands folded in his lap,...
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