The Faded Alibi
The stone tablet sat in the reliquary, a slab of grey basalt no larger than a man’s forearm, and I knew with a certainty that had settled into my bones like damp wool that it was the only thing standing between me and the pyre. I am Thomas Bradshaw, scribe of the cathedral library, and for the last three weeks I have not slept a night without hearing the Duke’s voice, a dry rasp that seemed to...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews