The Golden Song
The parchment was damp, the ink of the final line blurred into a brown smear, and Elara held it up against the grey light of the window until the letters resolved into the specific, damning arithmetic of debt. It was a list of payments, not for the restoration of the nave, but for the purchase of wine and wool in Lyon, signed with the shaky, circular hand of Brother Thomas, her master, a man...
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