The Distant Blade

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2026-08-19 20:18:27 -

The Distant Blade

The great hall of the Keep of St. Aethelgard smelled of roasted swan, spiced wine, and the heavy, cloying perfume of tuberose that Margaret Holloway had worn to her wrists in thick, cloying bands. You stood at the edge of the feast, your hand resting on the hilt of the longsword that had belonged to your father, then his father before him, a blade that was not merely steel but a living thing, a...

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