The Golden Greenhouse
The banquet hall of the Citadel of Saint Jude, a fortress of grey stone and colder silence that had stood for three centuries above the jagged cliffs of the Atlantic, was filled with the heavy, cloying scent of roasted boar and the even heavier, metallic tang of fear that seemed to hang in the air like a physical mist, settling into the folds of the velvet tapestries and the polished surface of...
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