The Distant Wound
The parchment lay flat on the obsidian slab, its edges curled slightly from the heat of the brazier, and I read the seal before I read the words, because in the Obsidian Court the seal is the law and the words are merely the stain it leaves behind. It was a forged decree, the ink too fresh, the wax too soft, bearing the signature of the High Chancellor but lacking the secondary cipher that...
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