The Pale Altar
Do you think a man can be loyal to a lie? I asked myself this as I stood in the archive, the air thick with the damp rot of old paper and the metallic tang of the silver brooch in my hand. It was a cold thing, cold as the river ice that had been cracking open all week, loud and sharp against the silence of the room. I was Miguel Cortes, captain of the guard, and I had spent thirty years...
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