The Golden Maze
The fever broke in the small hours, leaving Sir Aldric gasping in the straw-strewn cell of the city prison. He had dreamed of Elara, his sister, standing before the altar in her wedding white, the gold circlet she had worn on her head now fractured into three jagged shards. In the dream, the shards cut his palm, and the blood that flowed was not red but the dull, oxidized yellow of old coin. He...
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