The Wistful Incense
The needle is too thick, Master Elias. The King demands a symbol of unyielding loyalty, not a patchwork of shivering intent. The voice belonged to Alderman Vane, who stood in the doorway of the scriptorium with his arms crossed over a chest of wool that looked heavy enough to break a mule’s spine. Elias did not look up from his work. His fingers, wrapped in a bandage of linen soaked in vinegar,...
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