The Faded Frontier
The spoon in Lyuba Romano’s hand cracked, splitting into three jagged shards that spilled across the oak table with a sound like dry bone. She was forty-two, a senior inquisitor of the Order of the Silver Spoon, and her fingers, once steady enough to thread a needle in the dark, now trembled with a cold that had nothing to do with the air. The dream had been of a porcelain bowl, shattering and...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews