The Pale Meridian
"The ledger is balanced, Master Thorne," I said, my voice trembling only slightly as I laid the heavy sheaf of parchment upon the oak table. The wood was cold, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected my own haggard face, and the numbers, those black ink rivers, seemed to swim before my eyes. "The tithe from the southern provinces has arrived. It is... sufficient. More than sufficient, in...
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