An abandoned boy, a grieving prince, and a reclusive sorcerer find themselves caught in a web of peril and mystery...
Domi, a young thief abandoned on the street at birth, just wants to save his dying foster mother. But first, he must survive the m...
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As the Appraiser predicted, the moment Domi stepped into the Black Flight Wine Bar he could tell he was in trouble.
His ma presided over her salutatio audience in the cramped common room. Forty Pullati and other criminals gathered at tables around jugs of watered wine, including the Dyer, who sneered at Domi and glanced at his nails as the boy froze. Sweet Eternal Radiance, what was he doing there?
As Domi crept into the candlelit saloon, the eve's business didn't stop his ma from casting him a glance that shifted from assessing to displeased in an instant. His heart plummeted from its place in his throat over what the Lightbearer might have blabbed straight down to his belly. Eternal Radiance preserve him, she knew something.
He cringed under her stern scowl. Best to go wait for her in their insula above the common room and pray the Dyer kept his toothless trap shut.
He threaded his way through her Pullati court toward the spiral stairs, listening to the din of conversation with half an ear. His heart swelled with pride. His people possessed their own ways.
For most of society, salutatio was an early-morning tradition. Lowborn children began their day before chores by offering their parents a formal greeting. Servants, sycophants, and clients waited upon their highborn patrons for an hour, though what they did there remained a mystery to Domi.
But at the Black Flight and among Pullati all over the world, salutatio was an evening affair. There, each gang's Rex Pullati received the daily reports, requests, and riches of their city's hardworking criminal lowlives and distributed instructions, favors, and rations in return. Like in every past generation, the tradition preserved his people despite all the hardships they faced.
Domi slid through the gathered throng of thieves, forgers, smugglers, and swindlers, receiving a respectful nod as he passed one of Merula's enforcers. The slender but deadly woman, having caught the vexation on the Rex Pullati's face, offered Domi a pat on the shoulder as he scampered past her. He darted up the staircase, which spiraled its way above bar tables, wine racks, and dartboards to the narrow loft serving as Domi and Merula's insula.
The apartment over their respectable establishment was tiny but decent. Merula kept a strict house when it came to redistribution, a principle vital to their community's survival. Little made its way back into her own hands that Merula didn't share with others in equal measure or based on need. In fact, if Domi's ma caught wind of today's lift, she would punish him on those grounds alone, never mind the risk, the secrecy, and the disobedience.
But though the Pullati's collective wealth passed through her hands and back into the community, a thing here or there sometimes drifted back their way. As often as not, it was a gift or service from Pullati who appreciated some favor Merula offered over the years. Lately, though, it had been a gesture of care and concern.
As a result, someone tended to patch Domi and Merula's roof before the Rains whenever wind or woodpecker knocked fresh holes in it, and their brazier rarely lacked coal. And though they owned no fancy blankets like the one the Appraiser found Domi in years ago, warm, if patched, wool blankets guarded them against the evening chill.
