The Distant Temple
The seal on the letter was red wax, cracked and dry. I held it in my palm, feeling the heat of the sun through the thin paper. It was a summons. Or a sentence. In the Court of the White Hall, they were the same thing. The ink on the parchment was black, but under the light, it looked like a bruise. My name was Thomas. I was a scribe of the second rank. I copied the laws. I did not write them. I...
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