The Wistful Dinner
The chalice in Elias’s hand was heavy, its silver rim worn smooth by the thumbs of men who had held it before him, and the wine inside was the color of old blood, thick and cloying on the tongue. He sat at the high table of the Duke’s winter feast, the third seat from the head, a position that cost him six pence a day in wages and all the dignity of a man who had not eaten a proper meal in two...
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