The Faded River
The parchment was heavy, stained at the edges with the damp of the cellar where it had been kept for three years, and the ink had faded to the color of dried blood. Aldric held it in his gloved hands, the leather creaking softly in the heat of the throne room, while the Midsummer Feast roared around him in a tide of clinking silver and roasted meat. He was thirty years old, a man whose life was...
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