Thoster Chatwyn knows every story there is to tell in all of Elysia. But what if the greatest story he could ever tell was that of his own past and the promise of his future?
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Leaf crouched like a spider in the narrow alcove, the stones of the floor pressing cold through her leggings. Her long, thin limbs were folded into as small a bundle as she could manage. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, listening.
From the hallway came the sounds of movement: the scuff of boot soles on stone, the clink of mail shirts, the rough whisper of men’s voices, too low to make out the words. Leaf inhaled slowly, willing herself to fade into the dark recess.
A moment . . .
Leaf crouched like a spider in the narrow alcove, the stones of the floor pressing cold through her leggings. Her long, thin limbs were folded into as small a bundle as she could manage. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, listening.
From the hallway came the sounds of movement: the scuff of boot soles on stone, the clink of mail shirts, the rough whisper of men’s voices, too low to make out the words. Leaf inhaled slowly, willing herself to fade into the dark recess.
A moment . . .