The Distant Clue
"You are wasting the grain, Thomas," said the King, his voice thin as wire in the damp air of the hall. "You are letting it rot in the dark." I looked up from the floor where I had been kneeling, my hands stained with the black mud of the cellar, to meet the gaze of the man who held my life in his palm. He sat upon the high seat of carved oak, a figure of terrible stillness, surrounded by the...
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