The Wistful Dinner
The rain in the square did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that blurred the edges of the cobblestones and the faces of the men standing beneath it. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the wet stone, his watchman’s cloak heavy with water, his eyes fixed on the balcony above where Lord Vane sat in dry, absolute silence. Elara was inside the prison walls, accused of stealing a...
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