The Golden Visit
"Sign it before the ink dries, Yiannis. The Duke’s men are already in the valley." The scribe, Nikos, did not look up from the parchment. His quill scratched a rhythm against the vellum, a sound like dry leaves skittering over stone. The scriptorium smelled of oak gall and damp wool, a scent that had seeped into Yiannis Ioannidis’s pores over forty years of service. He stood by the window, his...
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