The Pale Verdict
The bell that hung in the tower of the Keep had not rung in forty years, not since the time of the Great Silence when the King’s father had died with his eyes open and his mouth shut, as if the sound of its own voice had been forbidden to him by a divine decree. I was seven when I first saw it, a slab of dark bronze that seemed to drink the light of the chapel candles, its surface etched with...
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