“And the cost?” Prince Pontero asked the guard offering him a tiny vessel of god-touched hope.
“The Temple executed my sister when they caught her making it.”
“Ah.” He slurped the tincture from its shiny gold embaphium. For the first time in seasons, he stood—and plotted revenge.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Obsidian Iceberg to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.