The Pale Shadows
Thorne, Thorne, the steward called out, his voice cracking against the stone walls, you are not finished with the wine? Elias did not turn his head; he was watching the candlelight catch the rim of the goblet in his hand, a thin gold line that seemed to vibrate with a frequency only he could hear. The hall of the Abbey of St. Jude was a cavern of noise and heat, the air thick with the smell of...
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