The Teller of Small Fortunes

“Something within her ached at the sound, and the ache was almost like hunger—an odd, familiar longing for someplace she had never been; for something she did not know. Then the tavern door slammed shut, and the sound of merriment was muffled once more.”

This quote uses a simile to compare emotional longing to physical hunger, emphasizing the visceral nature of Tao’s isolation. Her “familiar longing” for an unknown place is a paradox that reveals her disconnection from both her Shinn heritage and Eshteran surroundings. The slamming door serves as both literal and metaphorical barrier, underscoring the theme of Finding a Sense of Home in Relationships that Tao hasn’t yet recognized she’s seeking.

“Tao wasn’t sure whether Esther would find the courage to leave, but she hoped she’d made it a little easier for her to take another path, should Esther choose it. 

Everyone deserves a home, Tao thought, patting Laohu’s whiskery grey nose. And what was a home but somewhere you wouldn’t have to feel quite so alone?”

This passage directly articulates the novel’s definition of home as emotional connections rather than a physical location. Tao’s empathetic concern for Esther demonstrates her compassion despite her outward detachment, sensing that Esther, like her, is estranged in her surroundings. This, combined with Tao’s simple, affectionate gesture toward her mule, reveals her ability to find small connections even while believing herself fundamentally alone.

“She sought the thin, fine threads that fell in a smattering like new frost across the tapestry of Mash’s palms, and near a nexus of lines, found one to follow that felt true and right: 



A very young girl, yellow-haired, eyes wide with delight. 

A warm ball of dark fur, squirming—one notched ear, a small pink nose—gently lowered into her arms. 

‘Oh, Da, I love him! I’ll name him Bloodhair, like the pirate!’”

The textile metaphors in this passage—“threads,” “tapestry”—transform abstract fortune-telling into tangible craft. They also allude to the Greek Fates, tying Tao’s power to classical allusions to prophecy. The vision itself contains precise, vivid details that establish its authenticity while creating narrative tension through the later revelation that Mash’s daughter is missing. This passage illustrates the theme of The Weight of Foreknowledge as Tao’s “small fortune” becomes unexpectedly significant.

“The road had always been a place of quiet contemplation for Tao, alone with Laohu and her thoughts. But here with two unwanted escorts of dubious reputation, it had become something loud and unfamiliar. But not, thought Tao as their small party clanked on, entirely unpleasant.”

Previously, Tao thought of the road as representing isolation, but it now shifts to potential connection, marking a significant shift in Tao’s perspective. Contrasting sensory details—“quiet” versus “loud,” “unfamiliar” versus implied familiarity—track this emotional shift. The final line employs litotes (“not entirely unpleasant”) to convey Tao’s reluctant admission of enjoyment, revealing her cautious openness to the possibility of companionship.

“She rubbed at her eyes, wondering how and when she’d be able to leave them behind somewhere and return to her quiet solitude—for surely this was only a brief interruption, and they would flit out of her life again, quick as the flashing of the glowbugs or the passing of the tide.”

This quote uses similes to compare human connections to ephemeral natural phenomena—“glowbugs” and “the tide”—revealing Tao’s belief that relationships are inherently temporary. The irony lies in her mischaracterization of these connections as an “interruption” rather than the beginning of her found family. Her physical gesture of rubbing her eyes suggests both fatigue and a metaphorical inability to perceive the significance of their burgeoning friendships, illustrating her resistance to the very community she subconsciously craves.

“People think they want true fortunes, but they don’t really. What they want are lies. Small lies, big lies, entertaining lies, comforting lies. 



They want to sigh over handsome strangers that they’ll never meet. They want to imagine themselves long-lost royalty. They want to hear a harmless fantasy from a charlatan and then go home and carry on feeding the goats the next day.”

Tao’s insight reveals the central paradox of her profession: Authentic truth is rarely what customers desire. The repetition of “they want” creates a rhythm that emphasizes human preference for comforting illusions over potentially painful reality, connecting to the theme of The Weight of Foreknowledge. The contrasting imagery between romantic fantasies and mundane reality (“feeding the goats”) underscores how fortune-telling primarily serves as escapism rather than divination.

“‘It’s like … life force, or breath. Our spirit. What makes us human. And we believe that all qi is like water,’ said Tao. She thought back to how her Baba had once explained it to her as a child, and tried to remember the words he had used, translating roughly in her mind. 

‘Like a mountain pool, fed from a waterfall and flowing away again in many forms—some over rock, some through forest, some sinking deep into land. Water leaves this pool but also returns to it. And in this way, all people come from the same pool, and will return to it in time.’”

The extended water metaphor illustrates the Shinn concept of qi while revealing Tao’s connection to her cultural heritage despite displacement. The sensory imagery of flowing water makes abstract spiritual concepts accessible, and Tao’s mental connection to her father’s words demonstrates how cultural knowledge functions as an emotional tether to her past. This highlights her bicultural identity as she navigates between Shinn tradition and Eshteran experience.

“What if it was my seeing that made it true?”

This single, haunting question encapsulates the novel’s central philosophical inquiry about whether prophecy observes or creates fate. The brevity of the line contrasts with its immense psychological weight, representing years of guilt that Tao has carried around all her life. This question captures the theme of The Weight of Foreknowledge while framing Tao’s reluctance to use her greater vision as not merely fear but moral responsibility.

“‘I bake things!’ she exploded, jumping to her feet from the driver’s bench. “And I sell them, and I make new recipes. And all right, maybe they’re not the prettiest pastries in the kingdom, but people like them anyway! And I don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not that’s worthy enough a purpose for the likes of you. I am more than just what I do; I am a person, and I am alive, and that is purpose enough. And as for freedom, look at me on this wagon, weeks away from home—l’m seeing the world and meeting new people, aren’t I, and it’s because I chose to leave, fortune or no fortune.”

Kina’s impassioned declaration employs escalating rhetoric that builds from simple declaration to philosophical manifesto, directly challenging the troll’s nihilism. Her speech articulates that she chooses happiness through the recurring motif of food and baking as sources of meaningful connection. The passage also demonstrates character development through syntax: Kina’s speech begins with short, defensive statements that grow into complex declarations of agency and self-worth. This establishes her as the novel’s passionate voice for existential freedom despite predetermined circumstances.

“When I left Margrave, I was … younger. Mostly just afraid of not knowing how to be on my own, I think. I didn’t know who I was or what I was doing or where I was going. I just knew I needed to be far away from there—from that life that was hardly a life. From what they expected of me. 

So I ran as far as I could, and made plenty of mistakes along the way. I’m still running now, in a way, but at least I’m stronger and less afraid.”

This passage reveals Tao’s journey toward self-determination through her choice to leave Margrave. She expresses her past uncertainty and lack of direction, which contrasts with her current, more confident self. Tao’s acknowledgment that she’s “still running” demonstrates how physical distance provides emotional freedom from constraining expectations. The metaphor of running functions as both literal movement and psychological state.

“‘You think I’ve … no substance?’ said Silt. He sounded bewildered and hurt. 

‘Oh, I suppose that sounds awful, but—yes, in a way, I do! You’re all charm and flattery and coin tricks, Silt! You’re a great deal of fun to be around, but I have no idea what’s underneath it all.’ Kina regarded him with exasperation. 

‘People aren’t like that, Silt, not really. We’re not always cheerful and funny. We’ve sadness, and anxiety, and all these other bitter things wrapped up inside, too, and that’s what makes the sweetness all the sweeter.’”

In this confrontation, Kina employs a baking metaphor (comparing Silt to a macaron) to articulate her insight about human complexity and authentic connection. Her assertion that “bitter things wrapped up inside” make “the sweetness all the sweeter” juxtaposes opposing qualities to demonstrate how embracing a full range of emotions creates depth in relationships. The dialogue reveals Kina’s wisdom while forcing Silt to confront his superficial approach to human connection. This exchange marks a turning point in their relationship dynamic, as they move beyond flirtation toward genuine understanding.

“Tao raised it to her mouth now, strangely hesitant. But there was no audience here to judge her. So she pursed her lips, calling forth the memory, and exhaled a soft, slow stream of breath across the blowing-hole. 

A low, melancholy note sounded; it hung softly and wavered in the still cave air. 

Tao thought again of Baba—his laughing eyes, his strong arms. She thought of her mother, too—not as she was now, a gilded doll in Eshteran lace, sitting still and saying nothing as Margrave danced its balls around her—but as she had been, eyes laughing and hands soft, all those years ago in Lianghe.”

Tao reconnects with her Shinn heritage through music, creating a sensory bridge to her past. The description of the note as a “melancholy” sound that “hung softly and wavered” uses sound imagery to externalize Tao’s emotional state and her tenuous connection to her cultural roots. The contrast between her mother’s past self with “eyes laughing” and her current state as a “gilded doll” illustrates the costs of cultural assimilation through visual imagery. The flute is a symbolic link to Tao’s heritage, representing how cultural artifacts can preserve identity.

“‘Here,’ she’d said, holding the bag out to Tao. ‘If you want a ji, you can have mine. But do not wear it where Desmond can see you, or he will take it from you.’ 

And that was it. No ceremony; no loving words of pride and encouragement for a daughter now become a woman; no gentle hands fixing the ji just so. 

But Tao had taken it nonetheless, and when she’d run away from Margrave, she’d made sure she wore it in her hair.”

This exchange involving the jade ji (hairpin) illustrates both cultural suppression and Tao’s quiet resistance. The absence of traditional ceremonial elements is emphasized through the tricolon of negations (“No ceremony; no loving words […]; no gentle hands”), highlighting the incomplete cultural transmission between mother and daughter. Tao’s mother’s warning reveals how Shinn culture must be hidden within their household, demonstrating the pressure toward assimilation. Tao’s decision to wear the ji when she fled represents an act of cultural reclamation and defiance, showing how she embraces her heritage despite societal pressure to abandon it.

“‘I’ve already told you that I was brought to Margrave after my father died, and my mother married an Eshteran nobleman,’ she said. ‘And that I was raised there, but then I left. 

Some might think me ungrateful for running away. My new stepfather was—not a nice man. My mother came from a high-ranking family; her great-uncle was a minister in the Imperial court—and my stepfather married my mother thinking that she’d help establish and manage his trade with Shinara. So we were valuable investments, in a way.’”

Tao’s backstory frames her and her mother as “valuable investments,” using economic language to reveal the dehumanizing nature of their treatment in Eshteran society. Her understatement that her stepfather was “not a nice man” suggests trauma while allowing readers to infer the difficult circumstances she endured. The political and economic dimensions of the cross-cultural marriage emerge as Tao explains how her mother’s connections made them desirable for trade advantages. This passage illuminates the theme of Navigating Identity Amid Prejudice and Expectation by showing how Tao’s worth was calculated through her utility rather than her humanity.

“This egg, into which I have poured the joy of my first flight, and the sorrow of my mate’s last burning, and my love eternal; that it may rise strong and beautiful from my pyre—

“This egg, whose hatching shall grant me the rest I have sought for so long—

“This egg—you would steal it from me, Thief?”

The phoenix’s revelation transforms the “treasure” Tao’s group was seeking into a sacred symbol of life, trust, and continuity rather than a mere object of value. The anaphora of “This egg” creates a rhythmic, incantatory quality that elevates the language to mythic proportions while emphasizing the egg’s profound significance. This moment forces the characters to confront the ethical dimensions of their quest. The phoenix’s direct address to Silt as “Thief” challenges him to decide who he truly is beyond the labels he has accepted.

“‘I’m Tao, the fortune teller. And I won’t run any longer. I’ll go with you to the Guild in Margrave.’ […] 

‘I’ll go to the Guild, and I’ll do what they want of me. I’ll become who they want me to be. And then I’ll take their silver and commission a search for Leah.’”

Tao’s declaration represents her deliberate sacrifice of individual freedom to help Mash find his daughter. Her willingness to “become who they want me to be” reveals her evolving perspective on identity; rather than seeing Guild service as a betrayal of self, she reframes it as a means to help others. The shifting use of first-person pronouns (“I’ll go,” “I’ll do,” “I’ll become,” “I’ll take”) creates a rhythmic determination that underscores Tao’s agency in this moment—even in surrender, she exercises choice and purpose.

“‘Oh, Tao,’ her mother said brokenly. ‘Oh, my daughter. You did not kill him. It was not your fault; it was never your fault. And I am sorry; I am so sorry that I ever made you believe that.’ 

Of all the versions of their reunion that Tao had played through in her mind, she had not once let herself imagine those words coming from her mother. It was not your fault. I am sorry.”

This emotional reconciliation addresses the novel’s theme of Navigating Identity Amid Prejudice and Expectation by healing one of Tao’s deepest wounds—her misplaced guilt over her father’s death. The repetition of phrases (“not your fault”) followed by their isolation in Tao’s thoughts demonstrates how these words penetrate years of psychological armor, highlighting the power of validation to transform self-perception. Tao admits that “she had not once let herself imagine those words,” revealing her protective cynicism and showing how she had constructed her expectations to shield herself from further hurt.

“I’m not the High Mage because of my magic, Tao. I’m the High Mage because I’m the best at managing the politics and handling the paperwork, and because the Queen trusts my judgment over that of any of the hot-blooded, prideful young men squabbling for my position.”

Melea’s candid revelation subverts fantasy tropes about magical power hierarchies, arguing that in positions of power, administrative competence often matters more than inherent magical ability. The juxtaposition between her seemingly trivial power and her position as High Mage challenges Tao’s assumptions about what constitutes important power, reflecting the novel’s interest in finding value in overlooked capabilities. This passage provides critical worldbuilding by revealing that the Guild operates more as a pragmatic bureaucracy than a mystical order, dismantling Tao’s idealized notions of magical authority. The description of “hot-blooded, prideful young men squabbling” introduces a subtle feminist critique of traditional power structures, suggesting that Melea’s effectiveness stems partly from her ability to set aside her ego.

“‘So what are you afraid of, Tao?’ 

‘I’m afraid my greater vision won’t work.’ 

Melea shook her head, impatient. ‘That’s not it. What are you afraid of?’ 

‘I’m… afraid of hurting people.’ 

‘What else?’ […] 

‘I’m afraid I’ll always be alone,’ Tao whispered, and knew that it was true as soon as she’d said it.”

This dialogue sequence highlights the moment of epiphany when Tao discovers her fundamental fear through Melea’s persistent questioning. The progressive deepening of Tao’s answers—from surface concerns to authentic vulnerability—mirrors her journey throughout the narrative from hiding behind fortune-telling to embracing her true powers and connections. Tao “knew that it was true as soon as she’d said it,” highlighting that she articulated an unconscious truth.

“Tao looked down at the warm, freshly baked evidence of her friends’ presence—they were real, she hadn’t dreamed them; they knew and still liked her, and they were here—and she could hold it back no longer. She burst into great, uncontrollable sobs, holding the precious cinnamon bun away from her face, and Kina wrapped her in her arms, now leaking fat tears down her cheeks as well.”

This emotionally charged scene transforms the cinnamon bun into a tangible symbol of acceptance that triggers Tao’s cathartic release. Food functions as both a motif and conduit for emotional connection, with sensory details of the “warm, freshly baked” pastry emphasizing its significance. The moment crystallizes the theme of Finding a Sense of Home in Relationships as Tao realizes she has genuine emotional bonds despite her public revelation as a powerful seer.

“A true and loyal Eshteran. Tao swallowed, not sure quite how to feel about that, but she rolled the scroll back up with care and put it into her satchel.”

Tao’s ambivalent reaction to being officially labeled an “Eshteran” reveals her complex relationship with her dual identity. The physical action of carefully preserving the writ despite her uncertainty symbolizes Tao’s pragmatic acceptance of its benefits while still questioning where she truly belongs. This moment directly engages with the theme of Navigating Identity Amid Prejudice and Expectation, highlighting how the official recognition doesn’t automatically resolve internal conflicts about Tao’s place in society.

“‘I saw you holding a necklace, Silt. A familiar one—that ugly charm of the Mother you took off a sailor in Shellport, do you remember?’ […] 

‘So…’ Tao laughed in the firelight, feeling warm and free. ‘I think you were giving the necklace back, Silt. I think you were atoning for your past, and finding a new path.’”

This moment subverts both Silt’s expectations by showing that his future contains redemption rather than continued thievery. The passage employs situational irony when the fortune that Silt feared would confirm his criminal nature instead reveals his moral growth. The imagery of Tao laughing “in the firelight, feeling warm and free,” creates a mood of liberation that is contradictory to her typical fear of foreknowledge.

“The little girl had clutched tightly at the woman’s hand when Mash had come running in, but she took a step forward now, her eyes running over Mash’s face. ‘Da?’ she asked, young and uncertain. 

‘Yes, love,’ said Mash. ‘I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Your ma and I have been very, very worried.’”

This reunion scene represents the climactic fulfillment of Tao’s prophetic vision, vindicating her abilities and validating the quest that brought these characters together. The characters’ tentative physical movements and hesitant dialogue builds emotional tension before the resolution. Mash’s simple, understated response distills months of searching and suffering into a single line.