The Distant Temple
The jar of preserved lemon peel shattered against the stone floor of the Great Hall, a bright yellow splash of citrus amidst the grey dust and the smell of wet wool. Aldous Vane did not flinch. He simply stood there, the shards of glass crunching under his heavy boots, watching the juice seep into the ancient flagstones. Around him, the court of Duke Thorne sat in a silence so heavy it felt...
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