The Wistful Ashes
Chapter One The Iron Court smelled of rendered fat and old brass, a scent that clung to the wool of Mhairi Gunn’s tunic as she stood at the edge of the banquet hall. It was a long, high-summer dusk, the light failing against the algae-stained windows of the Isle of Skye, and the ferry’s engines groaned at slack water outside, a low, mechanical thrum that vibrated through the stone floor....
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