The Golden Maze
The feast was a heavy thing, thick with the smell of rendered fat and the low, grinding hum of forty men eating in the Guild Hall, and Thomas Vane stood at the edge of the table, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the wet, rattling ache that had taken up residence in his chest for the last three winters. He was forty years old, a miller’s son who had never been more than a miller,...
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