The Pale Banner
The damp in the plaster had turned the walls of the lower archives into a soft, breathing skin. I am Ayesha Wazir, and I was twenty-four years old when I arrived at the Imperial Court with a shard of glass in my pocket and a petition in my hand that no one wanted to sign. The Chancellor had accepted me into his service, though he looked at me the way a butcher looks at a bruise, with a quiet,...
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