The Wistful Throne
Chapter One Oscar Etienne had spent twenty years grinding the edges of other men’s knives, yet he found that the sharpest tool in the house was the silence of the ledger. He sat in the surveyor’s camp, the air thick with the grit of cane ash, holding the annotated hymn book that contained the stolen accounts. The bell of the rival yard tolled in the distance, a dull, rhythmic thud that marked...
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