The Golden Song
The High Court smelled of old varnish and fear. Elias stood before the bench, his hands locked behind his back, the leather cuffs biting into his wrists. He was thirty-two, but the grey in his beard made him look older, a man carved from the same stone as the pillars that held up the roof. The Chief Justice, a man named Aldous who had once praised Elias’s sword arm in the barracks, sat high...
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