The Faded Alibi
The feast hall of the Abbey of St. Jude smelled of roasted venison and stale incense, a thick, cloying aroma that seemed to coat the back of Elias’s throat as he watched the Abbot distribute the last of the wine. It was the winter of 1348, and the air outside the high stone walls was already turning the color of bruised iron, but inside, the candles burned with a fierce, artificial warmth that...
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