Oumaa strode up to the ships boardroom and opened the door without bothering to knock. "The children are rested and their guardian tended to. Is it a good time?"

"Ahh… yes. Please see them in, Oumaa, and stay with us," the Hawk said. He rose from his seated position on the floor, where he'd been engaged in brydina meditation. "Please, sit. How are you feeling, Mrs… Sealie, was it?"

She nodded. "Much better, sir. Thank you for the pills."

The Hawk nodded amiably. He was a dark-skinned man, perhaps midway between Oumaa's complexion and my own and likely of Garvanjian descent despite his Wext name. I would have guessed him to be in his mid- to late-thirties, but with practitioners of brydina, it can be difficult to tell, and between his carefully-cultivated close-cropped beard, pearl-white teeth, and impossibly confident eyes, he looked every bit the dashing privateer. On pure instinct, I curtsied to him.

"None of that, child!" he chuckled. "I'm having a coffee, but I thought that might not be appropriate for children, so I've also got a nice vanilla cream, too. Have any of you children had a vanilla cream before?" I shook my head - we didn't go much for Wext delicacies on Barsoa. "Oh, I think you'll like them. Stop gawking and sit already!"

As we scrambled to comply, the Hawk sauntered over to a small table, where he placed his hands upon two small handles on either end of the table and invigorated the respective sides with deceptive ease. If you're unfamiliar with artifice invigoration, it is extremely difficult to invigorate two items simultaneously, to the point where it's considered an impressive party trick at many mage academies. The Hawk poured three small cups of piping black coffee for the adults and three mugs of frothy, icy beverage for us children, setting a cup before each of us as if he, the Captain of the Black Swan, was a common servant rather than a storied privateer with (at the time) no fewer than three stage plays written about him, one of which still enjoys frequent revivals in Perdita's major cities.

Mailyn sipped at her beverage. "It's real good, sir!"

I took a tiny, ladylike sip and nodded my vociferous agreement. It was cool, slightly-creamy, and reasonably sweet with the distinct flavor of vanilla, which I'd never tasted before. "Thank you, Captain Hawk!"

"Yeah, thanks," Aldo agreed. His eyes bulged at the flavor and he gulped the whole thing down in about three seconds flat, punctuating his performance with a little belch.

Herrick the Hawk sipped at his coffee for a moment before fetching a platter of little buttery biscuits and passing them clockwise around the table. "So… why don't you tell me a little bit about what happened back on the Auspicio?"

I imagine he already had a fairly complete picture of what had transpired, but the Hawk seemed to find our take on events endlessly amusing. He frowned at all the right times, such as when I related that I'd hoped to find some of my missing family among the prisoners, but they were all strangers to me. He was especially amused by our failed escape attempt, admitting that he'd been weighing the pros and cons of boarding the ship and that observing the mage-cannon inexplicably firing off was what had cinched it for him. He was also quite chuffed that Captain Chirar had attempted to 'sail dark' right through Perditan waters.

"It was a good try, but completely pointless," he confided, reaching out to clap Oumaa Dead-Eyes on the shoulder. "With this one on my crew, it doesn't matter if you run dark in the fog in the middle of the night on the new moons - our Oumaa would still see you coming. The question was whether to wake half the crew for another merchant ship when we've already intercepted five on our latest outing. But, lo! We board and find that, not only have we found ourselves a slaver ship, we've found one with three fresh recruits! Perhaps it's providence - what do you say, Oumaa?"

"Everything is providence," Oumaa stated.

"Yes, of course - there's that," the Hawk agreed. He hopped from his seat and strutted across the room, retrieving a small lacquered box. He set it in the center of the parquet table and glanced meaningfully toward Oumaa. I couldn't help but notice that faint clicking and scraping noises emanated from the box - something alive was in there. "I'll need to see your introduction papers to get your recruiter his due compensation." He pointed to the lapel of Aldo's jacket, exactly where his folded paper was hidden.

Aldo carefully retrieved his and slid it across the table. Mailyn did likewise, while I spent a good minute flustered and groping along the fabric of my tunic dress before I found it - I'd never worn this particular dress before and had no idea where the paper was. It turned out to be in a hidden pocket inside the garment's front pocket. I reflected that Rook had been very insightful in including backup documents inside our change of clothes - I suppose that, with children, you never know when they'll completely ruin one of their outfits through some improbable series of hijinks.

The Hawk carefully unfolded Aldo's paper and flattened it with his palm - the page was completely blank, appearing to be nothing more than a slightly-glossy sheaf of cream-yellow parchment. Then the Hawk leaned back and stuck his pinkie finger into a fluted inkwell on the boardroom's desk. When he removed his finger, a blob of pitch-black ink wobbled impossibly upon his fingertip, quivering like a living creature. With a casual gesture, he flicked the ink onto Aldo's paper, where it quickly spread out like an army of tiny, crawling ants composed only of ink. They darkened the paper one letter at a time until the entire missive was visible in neatly-printed handwriting. The Hawk picked the letter from the table, cleared his throat, and read:

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"To the Agents of the Free Collegium,

"The rightful bearer of this note is Aldonio Carnoffi, a child from Portogarra on the isle of Barsoa. I send him to you, having observed on several occasions the expression of thaumaturgical powers to a degree rarely seen in children before the age of puberty - in this case, clear expressions of precocious shadow magic. I have secured all rightful permissions and hereby, without conflict of interest, remit him to the care of the Collegium in accord with our longstanding arrangement. Young Mr. Carnoffi was recruited without cost beyond the salary of Mrs. Sealie, his temporary guardian. I believe that Aldo will be a boon to our cause and have every confidence in his success. Please see to it that he is properly instated at our hallowed institute. The seal below will prove the veracity of my bona fides.

"May the darkstar shine upon you, my sibling. I humbly remain,

"Fineas Rook Whittier, FPFC"

The Hawk set the letter back upon the table and sipped at his coffee. "I know of Rook, and his eye for talent is well-regarded," he said quietly. He then moved on to my letter and, with another flick of magical ink, continued reading aloud - the letter was almost identical. After a moment, he glanced to me, eyebrows raised. "Are all three of you from Portogarra?"

"No, sir," I said. "Mailyn's not, but we're all from Barsoa."

"Curious. Now more than ever I wish to know the divination of you three - multiple talents clustered in time and space. That indicates a confluence of fate." The Hawk tapped a lean finger upon the lacquered box, eliciting a more frantic scraping and clicking within. "Or so I surmise." He proceeded to read Mailyn's letter - very similar to mine or Aldo's, except her talent lay in thermomancy rather than stygiomancy. Deep in thought, he tapped upon the lacquered box. "I would be very interested to hear a divination on these three" He slid the box across to her. "Oumaa, if you would?"

The white-eyed woman nodded graciously, her lips quirking up in a suppressed grin. "Of course." Her fingers ran along the surface of the box, carefully stroking the russet-painted dragon's head that formed its top handle, caressing it like she might a delicate lover. Then she eased the box open just enough for her hand to flit inside and emerge with a big, writhing beetle caught between her fingers. It was large - its body perhaps half the size of my small palm - and an iridescent green. Its glossy black mandibles clicked angrily and a high-pitched whine emanated from within its thorax. Seemingly unconcerned, Ouma waved the beetle back and forth in front of the four of us, her wrist flexing in perfect sinusoidal motion. Her hand moved faster and faster, and it descended, dipping toward the table and sweeping closer to us. My eyes bugged out, as I was almost sure she was going to toss the enraged insect at one of us.

Her hand suddenly stopped in front of Mrs. Sealie. Before our guardian could react, Oumaa placed it directly next to the poor woman's coffee cup. Before the beetle could react, she slammed her palm down with a resounding crack of buckling chitin. Three bristly, still-writing legs shot off, and I shrieked in surprise as one landed in my hair. I hurriedly picked the thing out and tossed it back to the table, next to a glob of greenish bug innards.

Oumaa leaned over the twitching, oozing remains of the destroyed beetle, taking in a long, slow breath. She held out her hand for us to see, bits of chitin and slime pressed into her palm. Somehow, I could tell that her filmed-over eyes had rolled back when she spoke: "I have seen, Agathe Sealie. Do not leave Floria. Though matters of hearth draw you from the city, though fortune calls from lands you call home, only tragedy awaits. A wolf snarls upon your doorstep. An ill star hangs in the sky. Remain in Floria, for only tragedy remains where once you called home."

"R-really?" Mrs. Sealie stuttered. "What's going wrong back at home? Is it… is it my brother?"

"I've spoken what I've seen, no more and no less - anything further that I say would corrupt the message, and I have three more divinations to deliver." She wiped her hand with a cloth napkin before reaching back toward the box. "The next is…"

The next beetle was virtually identical to the first, but with different coloring - a deep violet shell fading to black at the legs. Once again, Oumaa moved the bug after honing in on whose fate the bug called to - this time stopping right in front of me. I raised my napkin to deflect any bug innards headed my way, managing to intercept two legs, a mandible, and a gob of insides when Oumaa's hand slammed down. The beetle's legs continued twitching for long seconds afterward despite being connected to nothing but a webbing trail of smashed bug goo. Oumaa's eyes rolled back yet again, and she spoke:

"A child of plenty, a child with nothing. Revenge you seek and revenge shall you find, though not where you expect it. There are those who have been near to you who would betray you. There are those who have been distant who would offer the closest succor. Follow the path of anger and you will taste revenge. Follow the shadowed path and you shall have power. A third path still will offer both, but it lies under the shroud of the darkstar, and even my vision cannot pierce its veil. The broken woman will show you the way."

I took a sip of my crème, if only to still my trembling hands. "What does that mean, Miss Dead-Eye… er… Miss Oumaa?" I asked.

Oumaa said nothing, but the Hawk offered his opinion: "The shadowed path is a good omen," the Hawk observed. "We are Shadows, after all - Oumaa and I are. This reading suggests that you will have important choices to make, choices that will influence whether your current desires come to fruition, but it sounds like they're a ways off. Probably years."

"That is a… safe interpretation," Oumaa agreed graciously. Divination is notoriously difficult, even for those with a gift for it, but most Collegium students are given at least some instruction. "Now… who is spoken for next?"

The glossy black beetle portended Aldo's future: "You have already tread upon the path of the sneak, and there will be great benefit if you continue upon it. Tread off this path, and disaster lies upon your right hand and prosperity upon your left. A changing star hovers before you, and its light shall be your own if you embrace it."

And the dappled ochre beetle was Mailyn's: "An unwanted child, your path is blazing, your path is dark. You seek gold within your own soul, but there you shall find night. The affirmation you seek will burn the world, and those closest to you would take your tragedy and devour it in the deepest shadow. If you accept guidance from the woman in shadow, your path will lead to greatness, but an age of solitude ensues."

At least that's the general gist of their respective divinations - I couldn't possibly recreate the exact wording given how quickly I was fading from consciousness. The great, gauzy embrace of sleep settled upon me.

"Wh… what's that all mean?" I slurred. "Wha-" and I was out like a disinvigorated glowglobe.

I'm fairly certain the Hawk put something in our crèmes.