The Pale Garden
The first drop of blood did not fall so much as it was exhaled, a rust-colored spurt that stained the white linen of the tablecloth with the sudden, violent intimacy of a secret finally spoken aloud. "You have the nerve," Sir Aldric Vane said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of the room, "to stand before me with that weapon in your hand. Do you know...
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