The Wistful Show
Chapter One The wind off the Aegean carried the scent of brine and rotting wood. Georgi Ionescu stood at the gate of Varna, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen blood in three years. He was a dyer, though his hands were stained not with indigo but with the grey dust of the counting room where he had spent the last decade managing the debts of a merchant house. The seal of...
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