If the way Cithrin outfoxes rivals to found the Medean Bank’s new foothold in Porte Oliva—and how Dawson Kalliam games Camnipol’s court—had you riveted, you’ll love how Baru weaponizes ledgers, tariffs, and credit to dismantle an empire from within. Like Geder’s ascent after the sack of Vanai, every victory here carries a moral bill—only this time it’s paid in columns of numbers and broken loyalties.

If you enjoyed hopping from Marcus Wester’s weary pragmatism to Cithrin’s audacious schemes, from Geder Palliako’s bookish insecurity to Dawson Kalliam’s old-guard maneuvering, you’ll sink right into the shifting perspectives across the Seven Kingdoms. The same pleasure of watching separate plots (a mercenary captain’s troubles, a young schemer’s rise, a noble’s conspiracy) collide is here—only larger, bloodier, and even knottier.

If Marcus picking up the pieces of his past and guarding Cithrin through danger hooked you—and if seeing Cithrin step from terrified refugee to savvy banker lit you up—you’ll be drawn to Kaladin clawing back purpose, Dalinar wrestling duty and doubt, and Shallan learning hard truths. It’s that same slow-burn satisfaction of characters reshaping themselves, choice by difficult choice.

If Cithrin’s ethically gray banking gambits and Geder’s evolution from awkward scholar to city-burning figure of power fascinated you, Abercrombie’s Logen Ninefingers, Glokta, and Jezal will scratch the same itch. You’ll get the same uneasy thrill of rooting for people who make necessary, sometimes awful choices—much like Dawson Kalliam’s principled treachery in Camnipol.

If the thirteen races, old empire myths, and trade-and-war tapestry behind the Medean Bank’s reach made Abraham’s world feel lived-in, Liu’s silk-and-steel archipelago will wow you. The rival states’ customs, engineering marvels, and political myths influence battles and bargains the way Antea’s court etiquette and merchant networks steer Cithrin, Marcus, and Dawson.