The Pale Altar
It is a peasant’s trick, you think, to bring a vial of nothing to a man who has eaten the marrow of kings. The High Steward, a man whose coat cost more than the boy’s father’s life, did not look at the glass. He looked at the boy, Elian, who stood shivering on the cold marble floor of the antechamber, his knuckles white around the stopper. The air in the room was thick with the scent of beeswax...
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