The Faded River
The vial is empty. I look at the glass in my hand. It is clear, cold, and holds nothing but a few drops of dust. I had expected green. I had expected the sickly, swirling emerald that the court physicians described when they spoke of the Duke’s final hours. I had expected proof. I had expected a weapon to turn back the blade of the law. Instead, I have a broken promise, and the weight of the...
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