The Pale Altar
Chapter One The stone keep did not forgive the damp. Colette Noel stood over the kneeling boy, her hand steady enough to hold the quill but trembling too much to sign the warrant without a shudder that ran up her wrist. The novice, a young man named Baptiste, did not beg. He recited a poem about the turning of the seasons, a verse so specific in its grief that Colette recognized the rhythm of...
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