The Distant Clue
The royal banquet was a weight of silver and wax, three hundred pounds of gold plate and tallow candles pressing down on the tablecloth. Elias Thorne counted the coins in his purse, twelve gold marks, enough for a week’s ale, but not enough for a pardon. He held Elara’s hand, her fingers cold and trembling against his, a vibration that traveled up his wrist and into the bone of his elbow. He...
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