The Distant Promise
The stone bit into Elias’s knuckles as he pressed the shard against the wall. It was cold, colder than the damp air of the scriptorium, and in its fractured surface, the face of Julian stared back. Julian, dead three years to the plague, looked not sick but sharp-eyed, his mouth curled in a smirk that Elias had not seen in life. The siege of Dunmore had lasted forty days. Outside, the Black...
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