The Pale Altar
Chapter One Why does a stone bleed? Carlota Xavier asked the question to the wet clay under her fingernails, the weight of forty-seven of Marsh Hollow pressing against her sternum like a stone in a shoe. She was a mason, though the guild in Oria called her a shaper of breath, for the city’s architecture was not built but grown, fed by the vitality of those who laid its courses. Her son, Elio,...
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