The Distant Wound
Act I Ahmad Najjar pressed his thumb against the wax seal, holding it down until the red wax cooled and hardened into a jagged flower. The weight of the jade seal in his palm was a cold, familiar pressure, a thing of contested provenance that had passed through his hands for thirty years. He was fifty-four, and the left knee that had carried him up the terraced vineyards of the palace gardens...
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