II: Complication Chapter Four: At The Court of Capa Barsavi
Interlude: The Boy Who Cried for a Corpse
Chapter Five: The Gray King
Interlude: Jean Tannen
Chapter Six: Limitations
Interlude: Brat Masterpieces
Chapter Seven: Out the Window
Interlude: Up the River
Chapter Eight: The Funeral Cask
Interlude: The Half-Crown War
III: Revelation Chapter Nine: A Curious Tale for Countess Amberglass
Interlude: The Schoolmaster of Roses
Chapter Ten: Teeth Lessons
Interlude: The Tale of the Old Handball Players
Chapter Eleven: At the Court of Capa Raza
Interlude: The Lady of the Long Silence
IV: Desperate Improvisation Chapter Twelve: The Fat Priest From Tal Verrar
Interlude: The White Iron Conjurers
Chapter Thirteen: Orchids and Assassins
Chapter Fourteen: Three Invitations
Interlude: The Daughters of Camorr
Chapter Fifteen: Spiderbite
Interlude: The Throne in Ashes
Chapter Sixteen: Justice Is Red
Interlude: A Minor Prophecy
Epilogue: Falselight
Afterword
For Jenny, this little world that was blessed to have you peeking over my shoulder while it took shape—
Love always.
Prologue
The Boy Who Stole Too Much
1
AT THE HEIGHT of the long wet summer of the Seventy-seventh Year of Sendovani, the Thiefmaker of Camorr paid a sudden and unannounced visit to the Eyeless Priest at the Temple of Perelandro, desperately hoping to sell him the Lamora boy.
“Have I got a deal for you!” the Thiefmaker began, perhaps inauspiciously.
“Another deal like Calo and Galdo, maybe?” said the Eyeless Priest.
“I’ve still got my hands full training those giggling idiots out of every bad habit they picked up from you and replacing them with the bad habits I need.”
“Now, Chains.” The Thiefmaker shrugged. “I told you they were shit-flinging little monkeys when we made the deal, and it was good enough for you at the—”
“Or maybe another deal like Sabetha?” The priest’s richer, deeper voice chased the Thiefmaker’s objection right back down his throat. “I’m sure you recall charging me everything but my dead mother’s kneecaps for her. I should’ve paid you in copper and watched you spring a rupture trying to haul it all away.”
“Ahhhhhh, but she was special, and this boy, he’s special, too,” said the Thiefmaker. “Everything you asked me to look for after I sold you Calo and Galdo. Everything you liked so much about Sabetha! He’s Camorri, but a mongrel. Therin and Vadran blood with neither dominant. He’s got larceny in his heart, sure as the sea’s full of fish piss. And I can even let you have him at a… a discount.”
The Eyeless Priest spent a long moment mulling this. “You’ll pardon me,” he finally said, “if the suggestion that the minuscule black turnip you call a heart is suddenly overflowing with generosity toward me leaves me wanting to arm myself and put my back against a wall.”
The Thiefmaker tried to let a vaguely sincere expression scurry onto his face, where it froze in evident discomfort. His shrug was theatrically casual. “There are, ah, problems with the boy, yes. But the problems are unique to his situation in my care. Were he under yours, I’m sure they would, ahhhh, vanish.”
“Oh. You have a magic boy. Why didn’t you say so?” The priest scratched his forehead beneath the white silk blindfold that covered his eyes. “Magnificent. I’ll plant him in the fucking ground and grow a vine to an enchanted land beyond the clouds.”
“Ahhhhh! I’ve tasted that flavor of sarcasm before, Chains.” The Thiefmaker gave an arthritic mock bow. “That’s the sort you spit out as a bargaining posture. Is it really so hard to say that you’re interested?”
The Eyeless Priest shrugged. “Suppose Calo, Galdo, and Sabetha might be able to use a new playmate, or at least a new punching bag. Suppose I’m willing to spend about three coppers and a bowl of piss for a mystery boy. But you’ll still need to convince me that you deserve the bowl of piss. What’s the boy’s problem?”
“His problem,” said the Thiefmaker, “is that if I can’t sell him to you, I’m going to have to slit his throat and throw him in the bay. And I’m going to have to do it tonight.”
2
ON THE night the Lamora boy had come to live under the Thiefmaker’s care, the old graveyard on Shades’ Hill had been full of children, standing at silent attention and waiting for their new brothers and sisters to be led down into the mausoleums.
The Thiefmaker’s wards all carried candles; their cold blue light shone through the silver curtains of river mist as streetlamps might glimmer through a smoke-grimed window. A