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... lings above stretched into gold-veined heights, beams of holy light cascading from stained glass windows depicting various martyrs I probably insulted in a past life. Robed figures loomed above in rows of stone benches—the Council. And at the far end stood Cardinal Iareth, his expression like sun-baked parchment and his aura colder than a celibate’s chastity.

He raised a single bony hand. "Cecil Valen."

"I’m sorry, were you expecting someone more repentant?" I grinned. "I can do ...

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