The Wistful Incense
What does it cost to keep a secret in a city that prints its own streets? I ask you this because I am Stavros Samaras, and I have spent the last three years holding the weight of a cracked jade pendant in my left hand, a relic of the old dynasty that the Magistrate, a man whose smile never reached his eyes, ordered buried to hide his embezzlement of imperial tribute. The light in the...
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