The Golden Oath
Elara Vance, call her name loud enough and the mud of the harbor will answer back, a low, thrumming vibration that travels up through the soles of her boots and settles in the marrow of her shins. She had been digging for oysters, the iron tines of her rake scraping against the wet clay, when the metal struck something that did not ring like rock or shell but sang, a deep, resonant hum that...
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