The Distant Crown
The ledger is wrong, Elias. Chancellor Vane did not look at the parchment, nor at the young man holding it, but at the dust motes dancing in the shaft of light that cut through the high window of the antechamber. He spoke with the flat, bureaucratic precision of a man who had long ago stopped seeing people and started seeing only liabilities. The year was 1142, and the capital of the realm,...
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