The Distant Cartograph
The ink on the parchment did not dry. It wept. Margaret Holloway sat in the drafty alcove of the Royal Archives, her fingers stained black to the second knuckle. She was thirty-two years old, a woman of sharp angles and quiet endurance, and she had spent the last six months mapping the Northern Wastes. The King had commissioned the chart to assert sovereignty over the barren tundra, a political...
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