The Distant Clue
The ink was still wet when the boy broke the seal. It was not a letter. It was a brand. A symbol carved into the skin of the parchment, black and smoking, smelling of burnt sugar and iron. Thomas Whitmore stared at it. The mark was a circle bisected by a vertical line. The Eye of the Judge. He had seen it on the hands of the magistrates in the high towers. He had seen it in the mirrors that...
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