The Golden Song
The feast of Saint Jude was a triumph of excess, a riot of roasted swan and spiced wine that spilled across the long tables of the manor hall. I sat at the bottom, near the hearth where the embers glowed like dying eyes, watching the heat rise in shivering columns. My hands were stained with berry juice, dark and sticky, but I did not care. I was watching Lord Alistair. He sat at the head of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews