The Golden Song
The ledger for the winter provisions was balanced to the last farthing, a fact that should have brought me comfort, but it only made the silence in the scriptorium feel heavier, as if the air itself had been taxed and found wanting. I had counted the quills, the vials of oak gall, the sheets of vellum prepared by Brother Anselm’s steady hands, and I had found that we were exactly three days...
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