The Wistful Dinner
Chapter One Nadia Laham, daughter of the falconer, has not slept since the solstice moon rose. I say this plainly, for the record, though the record is already failing. My hands are stained with iron gall ink and the black water that seeps from the floorboards of this storeroom, a place that smells of damp wool and the metallic tang of old blood. We are in the winter of 1904, in the fog-choked...
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