The Faded Quadrant
The air in the great hall of St. Jude’s, a fortress of stone and shadow that had withstood the sieges of a dozen forgotten centuries, was thick with the scent of roasted swan and the damp, earthen smell of the ivy that strangled the outer walls, a perfume that was both celebratory and funereal, as if the banquet were being held not in honor of a victory but in the immediate, terrifying...
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