The Golden Harbor
The Royal Archive smelled of damp wool and old ink. Thyra Moen packed her satchel, her hands trembling as she wrapped the shattered porcelain cup in a scrap of linen. She was thirty-two, a retired stagecoach guard, and she needed the money to buy medicine for her sister, who lay dying in the canal house. The cup was stolen from the Duke’s study, a piece of her father’s legacy, but to the Crown...
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