The Wistful Witness
The year was 1348, and the air in the Hall of Mirrors tasted of iron and old dust. Sir Alistair stood at the center of the circular room, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword he had not drawn in twenty years. He was forty, though the weight of his oath to the Crown had carved deep lines around his mouth. He came here not for glory, but for Thomas. His brother was imprisoned in the lower...
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