The Pale Mist
Chapter One Tesfaye remembered the weight of the sash before he remembered the face of the man who had worn it, a heavy, wet thing that smelled of old blood and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. He stood now in the white, shadowless light of the palace courtyard, the air thick with a fog that did not belong to the weather, and he knew, with the cold certainty of a man who has checked his...
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