The Pale Path
The tallow candles at the High Court feast burned with a steady, oily hum, their light reflecting off the polished silver of the high table where the Archon sat, his face a mask of benevolent indifference. Elias Thorne stood at the periphery, a glass of wine untouched in his hand, his eyes fixed not on the Archon but on the door where his wife, Mara, had just vanished into the crowd, her...
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