ori entered emporia on a flood of river water. she left it on a flood of light. but we're getting ahead of ourselves—the river water came first, and it came fast and frothed with prayer beads and bits of kindling, rushing into the wellspring at the center of the city. she had been all of ten (or maybe eight), wrapped in the mainsail of a wreck gone down off the coast of calimshan and quietly dark-eyed. when the god of the lanterns plucked her from the pool she had fisted one small hand into the front of his coat until the fabric would never be the same and refused to let go. the flames he cast had flickered in her eyes long after she’d looked away.