The Secret Market of the Dead - Hardcover

De Feo, Giovanni

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1668077361 ISBN 13: 9781668077368

Verlag: S&S/Saga Press, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

An “enthralling” (Genevieve Cogman, author of The Invisible Library and Elusive) Italian-inspired gothic historical fantasy about a young woman who finds her power in the nocturnal realm that lurks beneath her town.

Just beyond the waking edges of Lucerìa, an 18th-century town in the kingdom of Naples, lies the Night: an enigmatic fiefdom governed by seven immortals and fueled by Moira, the power to reshape one’s destiny.

On this porous border separating Day from Night, Oriana spends her time fantasizing about becoming a smith in her father’s forge and eavesdropping on whispered tales of beasts and men who roam the nocturnal realm. But in the Night, these stories come alive, as Oriana saw for herself after she inadvertently trespassed into the Secret Market of the Dead, where vendors hawk Moira to those desperate enough to accept its immeasurably steep price.

Years later, when her father chooses her twin brother to succeed him, Oriana challenges her sibling to a series of trials to determine the forge’s true heir. But as the twins’ fierce competition escalates, with the town and her own family set firmly against her, Oriana realizes that to break free from the stifling confines of Day, she must once again embrace the Night—and, as always, everything comes with a cost.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Giovanni De Feo is a fabulist, novelist, and comic book writer. He previously taught literature at International Baccalaureate schools in England and Holland. Currently, he lives in Bologna, Italy, where he is also a performing storyteller with a repertoire of Italian folktales.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

ONE

During the first week of May 1747, as the saints’ procession honoring the birth of King Don Carlos’s heir made its way past Oriana’s house, her twin brother Oriano suddenly dove in front of the cortege and was almost trampled to death. Nothing short of a miracle saved him, a miracle to which Oriana was the sole witness.

Oriana and Oriano spent almost the entire night before the parade in games and whispered expectations. The twins’ bedroom, a narrow attic space, also served as a drying room for the festoons of oregano and dried peppers that hung from the rafters. Two glass jars full of fireflies emanated a greenish glow that barely lit the game they were playing. Their corn husk–stuffed mattress swished every time they moved to turn over a card. On a patched blanket, holy cards smudged by use were arranged in four rows of five. The eight-year-old twins sat across from each other and stared at them in concentration.

“My turn,” said Oriana.

“That one,” replied her twin, pointing at a card.

“Right. That’s… Saint Barbara, protector of miners, prayed to for protection against lightning, and her day is the… third, no, the fourth of December. Turn it!”

Oriano turned over the card and held it close to the jar to reveal a young girl crowned in gold, a tower being struck by a lightning bolt in the background. The little boy slapped his knee.

“You’re cheating! I know you are. Just tell me how you do it!”

“I am not. I just have a good memory. Now, that’s six against one. Your turn. That one,” she said, pointing at a card on the edge of the bed.

“Can I have a peek first?”

“Of course not. You know what Papà says. It’s no use agreeing to something if you break your word after.”

“Well, I haven’t agreed to lose six to one!”

“Just play your turn, Oriano.”

“All right, then. That’s… I think Saint Simon, patron of the leather people—”

“That would be the tanners.”

“Tanners, that’s what I said. Prayed to for… chicken, I mean, when you want to eat chicken, or have your chickens get fat. Am I right?”

“Go on.”

“And his day… his day is… can I have a hint?”

“Oh, I should think not.”

“You are the worst! His celebration day is… ah!” he said, suddenly beaming. “I know it! It’s the day Mamma and Papà married! I know because it’s coming in two Sundays, so it’s the fifteenth of May! Turn it over!”

Oriana turned over the card: an old man with a flame in his hand and a piglet at his feet stared at them with hollow eyes.

“Saint Anthony, protector of all smiths,” said Oriana, “sorry.”

“I’m done. I don’t want to play your stupid game anymore,” he said, and shook the coverlet, showering all the cards on the floor.

“Oriano! Those are Mamma’s holy cards! If they get filthy, she’ll only feed us bread and water for a week!”

“I don’t care. You cheated, you just won’t admit it!”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did!”

A thump interrupted their quarrel. The twins jumped and stared at the trapdoor.

“I’m hearing a ruckus,” sounded Donna Lena’s muffled voice, “when I should be hearing prayers or silence. Need I come up?”

“Sorry, Mamma,” said Oriana. “We were just about to go to sleep.”

“You’d better. You still want to see the saints’ procession tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yes!” the twins replied in unison.

“Then you must be on your best behavior. And if you lose one of my holy cards, I’ll shave your heads to shame you both. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mamma,” they sang together.

“Buonanotte.”

Quickly, the twins collected the cards from the floor, draped a black cloth over the firefly lanterns—leaving one alight so they could see a bit—and slipped under the sheets. In that cozy half darkness, the siblings breathed face-to-face, their foreheads touching. Oriana was the taller of the two, and slightly stockier, but both had the thick eyebrows of the Siliceo family, unruly brown hair, and their mother’s mischievous green-gray eyes.

“Do you think Papà will finally get a commission?” Oriano asked.

“I heard Mamma pray to Saint Anthony for it, so maybe he will.”

“Will the statue of Saint Anthony be there tomorrow?”

“Why? Are you still thinking about your spinning top?”

“Well,” he sniffed, “I wouldn’t have to ask Saint Anthony for it if Papà had bought me a new one.”

“If he could have, he would have.”

“And why shouldn’t I ask Saint Anthony? Or perhaps I could call the Night-One, the Duke of Under-earth, to come in his stead!”

While no one had seen the Duke manifest in nearly a hundred years, as patron of smiths and craftsmen and the earthliest of the seven Major Ones, his mere presence was said to grant gifts. Oriana stuck her head out of the blanket, as if to make sure they were still alone, then dove under again. She brought her forehead against her brother’s.

“You know Mother would kill you if she heard you speak their names.”

Being from Naples, their mother found the whole concept of Night Saints blasphemous, and hated all their silly rites. The only time she seemed to bear the idea was during Vigils, and even there she would pointedly make the sign of the cross. Luckily, Oriana’s Aunt Ciccerella thought otherwise. The girl remembered well how her aunt lay in bed with her on New Year’s Eve, whispering of the Night.

All Nocturnals were Diurnals once, the way all those who are now alive, one day will die. Some of the dead are told, and those who are sometimes come back, but with something of the Night, something wild and old.

Aunt Ciccerella told her that Nocturnals only existed when Diurnals told stories about them, especially at Night. She then listed the seven Major Ones, each an earl of their own domain, a part of the immortal darkness.

Should you need to call for their help, these are their names. Ossifrago, Baron of Twilight and Jester of the Night King. Uriene, Earl of the First Night, prophet, and dice master. The Emistuchivio, Duke of the dark that lies Under-earth. Briace, Marquise of Fullmoon and Lord of were-creatures and lunatics. Serapide, Countess of Second Night, she-warrior, and bringer of dreams. The Grim King himself, Lord ruler of the Hour of the Wolf and of all Night. And finally his spouse, Queen of Dawn and our Lady of sorrows.

Few adults she knew would dare utter their names at night, even for protection. And yet calling out to them, daring them to respond, made Oriana feel safer, stronger. All her life she imagined seeing Nocturnals out of the corner of her eye. When at dusk the branch of a pine tree quivered overhead, she imagined the spiny face of a Mazapegul. And when the railing of a staircase shifted under the moonlight, Oriana thought it a Wyrm slithering over the palazzo...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: S&S/Saga Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1668077361
• ISBN 13: 9781668077368
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 336
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV; info@simonandschuster.nl; ; Herculesplein 96; Utrecht; 3584 AA; Niederlande