The Pale Bonsai
The ledger showed three days of fever. I counted the stitches in Mara’s sleeve, twelve, loose and yellowing. The shears in my hand were cold iron, heavy as a verdict. I am Elias Vane, Warden of the Keep at Vael. It is the year 1423, by the old reckoning, though the King’s men no longer care for such things. The air in the garden is damp, settling into the stones like a wet woolen cloth. I want...
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