Aaru’s breath caught, but he said nothing.

“Of course, without Idris and the farmers there, once your supply is out, that’s it. No more fortune.” The woman—Lilana, if I remembered correctly—shrugged. “If you ask me, the smartest bet is to keep your remaining stock hidden. Sell it in ten years: the last of the Idrisi cotton. There’s your profit.”

Thoman bowed his head. “Fine advice. I may have taken it already. The challenge, at that point, will be convincing anyone of its authenticity, but I’m working on that.”

A second man spoke up: “I was just in Val fa Merce, where I heard they’ve started planting new fields on Harta to make up for the loss. With their gifts, the crops could be ready within a month. It won’t be the Idrisi quality, but with cotton in such a demand, I doubt anyone will mind.”

“Do you think it will matter?” I tilted my head, making sure the false tattoos caught the light of a nearby noorestone. “The Great Abandonment has already begun. In these uncertain times, shouldn’t we focus on ensuring the continuation of the Fallen Isles, rather than our bank accounts?”

“In these uncertain times,” said Thoman, “we must prepare for all possibilities. We don’t know when another island will rise up, or if another one will. Perhaps only Idris will rise, and the rest of us are safe.”

The muscles in Aaru’s arm tensed.

A third man—Balmer—leaned in conspiratorially. “Some say they earned it. Did it to themselves.”

“What do you mean?” Lilana stepped closer toward the group, a gleam of scandal in her eye.

“I mean,” he said, “that a few people on Idris got loud.”

Aaru stiffened. I squeezed him and fought to keep my voice even. “The Great Abandonment isn’t the fault of a few—”

But I wasn’t the Hopebearer today, so Balmer spoke over me. “This may not be the Great Abandonment at all. It’s just as likely that Idris’s people rebelled against his ways, and he decided to have no more of it. Truly, it’s a shame, but our world is what we make it.”

Disgust ripped through me, but before I could say anything, Thoman spoke up again:

“Idris always refused to work with the rest of us. The tariffs were too high, they abhorred travel on and off the island, and the Silent Brothers drove the entire society into abject poverty. It was a sorry state of affairs, and if you ask me, they were punished for it.”

“All the people?” Darkness clouded Aaru’s voice. “For the sins of their leaders?”

Thoman nodded. “They were complicit in the system of corruption, allowing it to continue like that. And, as my father used to say, sin in moderation from the government—well, that leads to sin in excess from the masses. If the Silent Brothers did all those things—making rules against girls working, stealing boys from their families, forbidding marriage between two men or two women—then imagine what their community leaders and men did. All that, but in excess.” He shook his head, as though he had actual pity for the people he’d just condemned.