The Distant Blade
The iron key bit into the lock with a sound like a bone snapping, and Silas did not flinch, though his jaw tightened until the muscles jumped beneath the skin. He had been polishing the rust from the gate’s hinges for three hours, his fingers raw and white with lye, while the fog rolled off the river in thick, gray banks that swallowed the lower city whole. This was the fifth year of his...
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