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... tiles of the Celestine Manor as Lyan stepped through its threshold, cloak trailing a comet-tail of ash that dissolved the instant it touched the entry wards. The late-evening hush inside the manor was the sort that cost a month’s wages for a single night—the cultivated silence of nobles who preferred their questions unanswered and their scandals unseen. Somewhere far down a corridor a harp plucked a single note, as if to remind the air it was expensive.

Behind him walked the dethroned Q ...

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