The Distant Affair
Elias. The name hung in the cold air of the workshop, sharp as a snapped rod. I looked up from the bench, my hands still stained with the grey dust of the sand. Thomas stood in the doorway, his breath misting in the gloom. He was not there to help. He was there to watch. "Elias," he said again, softer this time. "The Duke’s men are asking for the chalice. The winter solstice is three days...
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