The Faded Shield
The parchment was damp, the ink of the seal still weeping a black tear into the parchment’s grain, and Elias Thorne read it twice, his fingers cold against the wax, before he set it down on the oak table with a sound that was too heavy for the silence of the archive. It was a bill, of sorts, though it bore the seal of the Grand Master and not the ledger of the city bank, itemizing the cost of...
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