The Distant Crown
The burin in my hand was trembling, not from the cold that had settled into the joints of my left shoulder, but from the sheer, grinding weight of the steel against the silver plate, a friction that seemed to pull the very heat out of the air. I was cutting the Duke’s initial, a stylized ‘A’ that was to be the heart of the Great Seal, and the ink I had mixed for the test impression sat in the...
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