The Wistful Skyline
The heavy iron key in Elias Thorne’s hand was cold enough to burn the flesh of his palm, a weight that had become as familiar to him as the ache in his lower back after twenty years of climbing the same spiral stairs. He stood in the center of the Great Hall, the air thick with the smell of roasting pork and stale ale, watching the new magistrate, a young man named Julian Vane, take the high...
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