The Pale Tower
The parchment was stained with sweat and something darker, a rust-colored smear near the seal that looked like dried blood, though Elias Thorne knew it was only the ink from the scribe’s quill running out. He held the letter up to the guttering tallow candle, the wax dripping onto his gauntleted hand, and tried to decipher the cramped, frantic handwriting of his younger brother, Julian. The...
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