The Faded Portrait
The traitor is already dead, General. Lord Vane’s voice was thin, stripped of its usual courtly veneer, echoing in the high vault of the throne room where the air tasted of copper and ozone. Elias Thorne stood before the gilded cage, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, but the metal felt cold and distant, as if separated from his skin by a layer of frost. He was fifty-two years old,...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare