The Faded River
You will surrender the cloth, or the house burns. The High Magistrate’s enforcer, a man whose tunic was stiff with the chalk dust of the Citadel’s ledgers, did not raise his voice, for the weight of his authority was sufficient to crush the air in the room. I stood before him, twelve years old and already burdened with the ink-stained fingers of a scribe, my hand trembling not from fear but...
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