The Distant Clue
The needle bit into the wool with a sound like a small bone snapping, and Radmila Minasyan did not look up from the hem of the ceremonial cloak, her eyes fixed on the thread that hummed beneath her fingers like a trapped moth. She was the only master tailor left in the valley, the last practitioner of the trade in a kingdom that had forgotten how to dress its dead, and the frost had crept under...
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