The Distant Threshold
The stylus bit into the vellum with a sound like a bone snapping under a boot, and you held your breath until the line was clean. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a master engraver in the Ministry of Archives, and the seal for the new Chancellor is due in three days. The uncanny rule of the Ministry is absolute: the ink on the seals dries only when the truth is spoken aloud, and the paper burns...
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