The Pale Circus
Act I The steel sang a high, thin note as it bit into the guard, a sound that cut through the humid air of the King’s hall and the jeers of the crowd who called me a pale coward for refusing to spill blood on the marble, a label that stuck to me like the grease from the fish markets of the delta where I was born and raised. I was Sarn Veth, a court duelist whose hands were shaking not from fear...
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