The Pale Tower
The air in the High Chancellor’s chamber did not smell of the court, but of wet stone and old blood. Silas Vane, a man whose hands had shaped the light of Valoria for a decade, stood trembling before the dais, his breath fogging in the sudden, unnatural cold. The Chancellor, a hollow-eyed figure whose skin rippled like disturbed water, smiled with a mouth that seemed too wide for his face. "You...
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