The Distant Clue
The feast was loud. It was too loud. The candles guttered in the draft from the high windows. I held my cup tight. The wood was cold. My hands shook. Not from the cold. From the fear. Lord Ashworth sat at the head of the table. He looked small. He looked tired. He drank from a silver goblet. The metal was bright. It reflected the flame. It reflected my face. I did not look back. "You are quiet,...
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