The Faded River
The midwinter feast in the Guildhall smelled of wet wool and boiled turnips, a thick, suffocating scent that clung to the back of Abena Boateng’s throat. She stood near the heavy oak table, her hands trembling as she accepted the Master’s offer, the weight of her family’s debt pressing down on her spine like a stone. The Master, a man whose face was carved from the same iron as his discipline,...
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