The Golden Oath
The parchment was thick, heavy with the red wax of the Cardinal’s seal, and it smelled of tallow and dried blood. Elias Thorne held it up to the grey light filtering through the abbey window, his fingers trembling not from cold but from a hunger that had eaten through him for three days. He was thirty years old, a man whose bones felt too large for his body, and he had traveled for two weeks to...
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