The Golden Harbor
The chalice cracked with a sound like a knuckle popping, and the wine within turned to ice. Elias Thorne did not startle; he simply set the vessel down on the oak table, the frost already spreading across the grain in delicate, fern-like patterns that defied the August heat of the harvest feast. He was thirty-two years old, an inquisitor of the Crown’s ecclesiastical court, and he had come to...
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