The Distant Blade
Chapter One Did the house remember the weight of the debt, or did I? I stood at the threshold of the old quarter, the wet season’s rain slicking the cobblestones into a dark, reflective mirror that stretched toward the distant mill wheel, which had finally begun to turn for the season. The air smelled of wet limestone and stale coal, a scent that clung to the wool of my coat and seemed to...
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