The Golden Quest
Chapter One Ramon Pelayo had not slept in three days, and his hands, stained the deep ochre of madder root, trembled as he held the quill. The damp in the cellar of the San Miguel convent was a living thing, a wet breath that pressed against the vellum, turning the edges soft and gray. He needed to finish the illumination by the winter solstice, a deadline set by Abbot Mateo, or his position as...
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