€ 16,00 € 2,99 verzendkosten Totaal € 18,99
The Alchemist's Blood Vow: A Slow-Burn Fantasy of Alchemy and Ruin
Prijzen vanaf
16,00
Uitgelicht
|
|
16,00 |
Naar shop
|
| VERGELIJK ALLE AANBIEDERS (1) | ||
Beschrijving
Bol
Isla Thorne has worked the salt pans for eleven years and has never once blistered. Everyone else out on the white is dying of it - slowly, from the hands inward. Nobody knows why she isn't. Then the King's alchemist finds out.Eleven miles of white. Nothing grows on it. Nothing ever has.Slatemarch has fed the Silver City its salt for a hundred and forty years, and the Silver City has never once sent a healer. The pans took Isla's mother. They are taking her brother. She rakes crust at four in the morning, buries her neighbours by the season, and keeps her unblistered hands out of sight.Caspian Vane turns salt into gold. It is the reaction that made the kingdom rich, and it is setting inside his own body, hardening him from the marrow outward. He has read every assay ever taken. He has found one woman whose blood runs the reaction backwards.He does not want a partner. He wants a measurement.Isla's terms are simpler. Healers, salt, and a cart to Slatemarch every week for as long as her blood holds out. She signs. She does not trust him. She cannot read the contract she puts her name to.Neither of them expects the ledgers.Eleven hundred tons a quarter, signed for and delivered nowhere. A mint-master's seal lifted from eleven years of intercepted letters. Four hundred and eleven dead in a single quarter, in parishes nobody thought to count.The gold was never the secret. The paperwork was.A slow-burn fantasy of alchemy, industrial poisoning, and two people who negotiate their terms long before they ever touch.For readers who love forced proximity, a touch-starved morally grey hero, court intrigue, and magic that behaves like chemistry.
Vergelijk aanbieders (1)
Sorteren op:
Winkels met andere maten
Beschrijving
(1)
Isla Thorne has worked the salt pans for eleven years and has never once blistered. Everyone else out on the white is dying of it - slowly, from the hands inward. Nobody knows why she isn't. Then the King's alchemist finds out.Eleven miles of white. Nothing grows on it. Nothing ever has.Slatemarch has fed the Silver City its salt for a hundred and forty years, and the Silver City has never once sent a healer. The pans took Isla's mother. They are taking her brother. She rakes crust at four in the morning, buries her neighbours by the season, and keeps her unblistered hands out of sight.Caspian Vane turns salt into gold. It is the reaction that made the kingdom rich, and it is setting inside his own body, hardening him from the marrow outward. He has read every assay ever taken. He has found one woman whose blood runs the reaction backwards.He does not want a partner. He wants a measurement.Isla's terms are simpler. Healers, salt, and a cart to Slatemarch every week for as long as her blood holds out. She signs. She does not trust him. She cannot read the contract she puts her name to.Neither of them expects the ledgers.Eleven hundred tons a quarter, signed for and delivered nowhere. A mint-master's seal lifted from eleven years of intercepted letters. Four hundred and eleven dead in a single quarter, in parishes nobody thought to count.The gold was never the secret. The paperwork was.A slow-burn fantasy of alchemy, industrial poisoning, and two people who negotiate their terms long before they ever touch.For readers who love forced proximity, a touch-starved morally grey hero, court intrigue, and magic that behaves like chemistry.
Productspecificaties
| EAN |
|
|---|---|
| Maat |
|
Prijshistorie
Prijzen voor het laatst bijgewerkt op:
Gerelateerde resultaten
Uitgelichte Keuze
16,00
