The line of Preetah’s mouth wriggled like an earthworm on a fishhook. “Savior come and take you home.” She retreated, the whirlwind at the base of her updraft kicking up dust behind her like a dog burying a turd.

Isabelle turned to Marie. “Just how big is Djordji’s share?”

“More than Preetah has on hand, most likely,” Marie said. “He’s been sending money home ever since he left, sort of like his dues, and so he’s always been entitled to a clan share. He just couldn’t collect it because he was banished. That’s sixty years’ worth of clan share built up.”

“And Solo Preetah spent it, because she thought he’d never be able to collect,” Isabelle surmised. “But why? I mean, why send money home?”

Feng, who had watched the entire exchange with wicked amusement, said, “He’s Gyrine all the way up. Everyone knows what he does is wrong, but they also knows it’s necessary. He has to go, and he never returns, and none may offer him aid, but there’s not a Gyrine born since who wouldn’t buy a bottle and leave it out where he might steal it, or tickle his ears with the four winds’ gossip. He can’t come home, so we takes home to him.”

“A hero in exile,” Isabelle said, and wished she known him better.

It took some time for the stadium to fill. Clans of folk in matching motley gathered in what seemed to be designated sections.

Flotsam’s governing Windcaller choir gathered atop a raised platform directly opposite the floor entrance. They were a dozen men and women dressed in riotous couture with dagged hems, ripped sleeves, and warring color choices. One wore a cloak sewn with hundreds of glittering glass beads. Another displayed a hat that looked like someone had detonated a peacock. Bitterlich would have fainted dead away at the crimes against fashion.

Isabelle hugged Marie and wished her farewell, then joined Feng in the First Owl section.

A herald stepped forth to the sound of trumpets and said, “Behold, the Choir of Flotsam, blessed by the Builder, beholden to the Canticle of Law. Singer Barnabus sets the stage.”

Barnabus stepped forward. He was a man of middling height, built like a barrel with a thick beard and a flat nose. His voice rolled out like thunder. “Behold the arena, the land beyond death, the court of the powers divine. Today comes before us a spectacle most strange, for one unknown to us steps forth to claim our names of honor. Let the claimant step forth, Fellhand Marie, to defend her claim to that title.”