The Golden Suspect
The year was 1142, and the court of King Henry II had already turned its back on Silas Vane. He stood at the threshold of the great hall, the smell of roasting meat and stale wine thick in the air, clutching a leather satchel that weighed more than his sins. Inside lay a single vial of glass, no larger than his thumb, filled with a liquid that glowed with a faint, pulsing luminescence. It was...
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