“I’m going to kill you!”

Lapis watched passively as the Drake with the stripe of braided hair lurched out of the roller and stumbled towards her, wanting to barrel into her with the top of his head but unable to regain balance with his hands bound behind his back. A Minq snagged his collar and jerked him to the side with a sickening gak. His fellows hopped down from the roller and eyed him, her, and grimaced.

Spittle dripped down shank’s chin; rage sucked him down into a pit filled with blind revenge. She had witnessed the same in petty shanks who thought their mediocre skills in thievery should somehow protect them from her, and could not handle the humiliation when she proved them wrong.

She smiled and held up her arm, triggering her left blade. She ran her fingers over the cold steel and met his wide, bloodshot eyes. “You’re welcome to try. I’m certain I can make it an entertaining diversion for a few moments.”

“Nice, Lady,” Rin called from the back of the roller, where he helped unload packs. She frowned and let the handle go, before glaring in annoyance at her apprentice. She did not want to suffer a rat guilt trip in front of foes, but it irritated her he interrupted. The man threatened her first, after all.

“I’ll kill you and everyone you care about!” the man shrieked. “Red blood to match that red hair!”

Lapis froze, her gorge rising—Miki’s body, his severed head, the blood, her failure—

The Minq rolled her eyes, then stepped back as Patch waltzed up and slammed his fist into the man’s temple. His head crashed into the roller and he fell, limp.

“Patch,” the woman sighed.

“What? One less shank won’t make a difference, will it?”

Lapis set her hand at the base of her throat and fought to punch the memories back into the pit of her emotions. Rin had far more experience than Miki in dealing with reprobates, and he never would let a two-bit shank like that one get close enough to draw a single drop. She knew that.

It did not stop her heart from quivering.

The Drake’s tech arched away from her partner, terror pulling his face into a wrinkled mass as the blanket fell from him to land in a heap on the ground. The others hunched, heads down, their fight gone. Did they think Patch acted without cause? Only unsalvageable shanks did that. No, he responded to a threat, however unlikely that threat was.

Hoping she masked her distress, she turned from the evergreen-surrounded parking space and faced the snow-laden singular building and the white-haired caretaker holding the door open for them with a smile. The place resembled an aristocrat’s three-story rustic cabin, with a slanted roof, wooden sides, and a wide porch. The above-ground structure provided cover for an extensive cave system that housed Sils’ mod lab, and rebels and syndicate shanks visited for implants. So did Patch and she had accompanied him a couple of times, but not recently.

To the west were the Swift landing pads; a handful of people were sweeping the last vestiges of snow from the platforms, a thankless undertaking since the wind kept sending stray flakes skitting across the surface. They only cleared two, but by the piles of white stuff surrounding them, it had been a hefty task.

She shuffled down a shoveled path between shoulder-high snowbanks to the cleared porch, doing her best to stretch her stiff legs. The cramped conditions caused by cramming not only larger khentauree bodies into the tight spaces, but also ten captured shanks, meant her appendages had fallen asleep during the ride and there was little she could do to alleviate the ache. True, the roller with the Drakes had fewer people inside, but she would rather remain in Patch’s lap, squished between mechanical beings, than sit in their resentful presence.

She passed a weary Sils and a shop employee discussing where, exactly, to put the unexpected guests. The place was a mod center, not a jail. Lapis was grateful she did not have to participate; all she wanted was a space to sleep.

“Welcome welcome,” the caretaker said with a smile as she reached the porch. The blare of yellow light illuminated the first stray snowflakes that wafted down, and he looked up before returning to her. “Place is nice and warm,” he said.

“Thank you. I could use a bit of heat.”

“After the night you’ve had, I’d assume so.”

“Have you heard anything else about Trave?”

He dimmed. “We’ve a screen set up, if you want to watch.” He shook his head. “The Leads, as far as I can tell, is gone. They had brought in military personnel and were stationing them there to help with the protests—they’re either dead or wishing they were. There was a meeting of military minds, so the commanders, lead commanders, you name it, they’re probably dead as well. We’re in for a rough time of it.”

Hooves clicked on the porch; Tuft and Chiddle tread lightly, followed by the rest of the khentauree. She realized both felt discomfort, and by Dov’s intent stare at the man, they had reservations about putting trust in humans. The caretaker renewed his smile and motioned to the door. “Welcome welcome!” he said. Someone must have warned him that mechanical beings with a human torso and a horse’s body would be visiting. “We’ve sectioned off the main room with a divider. There’s plenty of room to bed down.”

Lapis nodded and whisked inside, the khentauree on her heels.

The entry, which had colorful coats on hooks and snow boots sitting in puddles against the walls, held a draft chill that evaporated once they stepped into the large interior.

The central room had a three-story ceiling, so the heat surprised her. She expected freezing temperatures in such a room during the cold months. Instead, sweat beaded on her forehead, and she wallowed in the touch.

After chilling into an icicle on Tuft’s back before they reached the rollers, she appreciated the muggy warmth. She hoped he did too; he had joined the saved khentauree, curled his hooves under him, and stilled. He had said he needed rest, and she wondered how much of that was him running a diagnostic. Had he been injured, but said nothing?

Shop employees and rebels from Jilvayna hunched over their knees while sitting on plush couches and in chairs, watching a large screen on the back wall. Soft whimpers and hisses coincided with the skyshroud crashing into the buildings, the image taken from a distance. The picture changed, and fire roared up from a cloudbreaker before it crumpled in slow motion.

Lapis closed her eyes, tears welling. Sobbing reached her; she looked over at Amarie, who gripped her upper arms hard enough her hands trembled as she cried. Glancing back to make certain Chiddle, Tuft, and the khentauree made it inside without incident, she padded to her and gently touched her arm.

“You don’t have to watch this,” she murmured.

Amarie sucked in a shaky breath. “I . . . know so many people there. In Sun Hark, Manghens, Carcandor. I have academy friends whose families live there. I was marching with them a few days ago. I know military commanders through my father. And the soldiers whose families are at the Leads base—”

“I’m sorry.” The soldier at Torc Bedan did not think his family survived the crash and subsequent building collapses, and Amarie must think the same. How many did she mourn for?

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “They had to have known about the aquatheerdaal running low. Why dock a ship that size over a city if they knew it was running out of fuel?”

“Hubris.” She had no answers other than Dentheria, to show its strength, willingly endangered thousands.

“I know my grandfather didn’t know about that. He would have warned me not to go to Trave and protest, just in case. But the commanders and lead commanders? They had to have known. Why dock so many ships over their headquarters when they could . . . could . . . do that?” She waved at the screen, which switched from a recording of the disaster to a newswoman.

Lapis recognized her, though she looked more haggard than she had earlier in the evening. Dora, if she remembered correctly. “Kardell’s News in the Morning will continue to update this breaking story. The City Prelate is scheduled to give a press conference later this morning. Inside sources say that at least one Lords’ Council member and two Second Counselors will attend. While High Counselor Makethryn has offered condolences, she has not issued an official statement concerning the crash or the safety of the remaining skyshrouds, and there are no plans as of yet for her to speak to the public.

“Until further notice, the City Prelate’s office has placed Trave under martial law. Do not leave home unless absolutely necessary. All transportation services are halted, all schools are closed, and all emergency services are directed towards the Leads rescue and recovery. If you need emergency assistance, contact your community disaster center. Log onto your Kardell’s News account or visit the city’s information site to see a complete list of centers and their contact information.”

Another woman appeared on the screen. “I’m Jessa Sidarco with breaking news.” The words, big and heavy, flashed over her desk and disappeared. “We just received footage of the Torc Bedan Base, taken by a concerned citizen in nearby Rooke.”

A dark image replaced her. The view wobbled about, but finally focused on cyan lights flaring in the distance. Small beams ruptured the darkness, aiming for the brighter, sky-high cyan fires on the bottom of the skyshroud. A thicker, yellow-tinged shot struck, and an explosion followed. The jets flickered and several extinguished before the remainder rocked, as if the ‘shroud had hit something. The ones on the farthest side died.

“This appears to be a skyshroud attempting to dock at the base, but eyewitnesses have contacted the station and said something strange is going on. Was a skyshroud attacked? Has it crashed?” The woman reappeared on-screen. “With us is retired Lead Commander Hendik Craysoll, to answer the question.”

“Good luck,” Patch grumbled. True enough; she doubted hosts comfy in a studio in Trave had any clue about what happened at the base. The footage replayed as Craysoll guessed, and failed, to explain what viewers saw—though he adamantly declared the beams had nothing to do with docking procedures.

“Did it crash?” Lapis asked, feeling redundant.

“Sure looks like it plowed into the side of a mountain.” A man with a southern Jilvayna rural accent and patched layers of clothing turned to them, dangling his arm over the couch’s back. “I think you’re lucky to have gotten out. They said earlier that law enforcement blocked off all ways in and out of the city except for emergency vehicles. They showed some rich neighborhood with people all snarly about bein’ told to go home, and they had to leave their vehicles in the middle of the road.”

“Fun times,” she murmured.

He half-laughed, but without humor. “For them, sure. For us?” He eyed her. “Can’t see how the Wolf won’t take advantage of this.”

The khentauree moved past, headed to the divider that separated the viewing area from the bedding. Lapis patted Amarie’s arm and followed; she wanted to sleep. She had the feeling she could view the footage to her heart’s content when she woke up.

Linz slipped around her, patted her shoulder, and headed for the nearest bedroll. They and a Minq had exited the rollers first to transport Fraze into the underground lab. As a modding establishment, it had operating tables, recovery rooms, equipment, medicine; while not a doctor’s office or healing room, the techs who worked there had the know-how and tools to keep him alive—if they got him there in time. Lapis did not have high hopes; rollers, as large and well-equipped as they were, plowed through snow with ease, but did so with the speed of a slug.

She almost asked after him, but did not dredge up the energy to care.

Sils bustled up, and he did a more thorough examination of Dov. Chiddle kept him company as Lapis made certain the other khentauree were comfortable. Tuft knelt down and, if he were human, she would have said he immediately conked out, but as a mechanical being, she did not think he needed sleep. She understood the weariness to her core, though.

Brander and Rin, accompanied by a few Minq, shuffled behind the screens and dragged their bodies to a bedroll. She cast them a weary smile, dropped her coat, gloves, boots and gauntlets to the side, and joined an already-snoring Patch. Despite the noise coming from the news report, she slipped into slumber.

Lapis did not wake until evening. She did not care; her fitful sleep filled with blood stains and a wounded Rin did not lend to rest, so continuing to wallow in a warm bedroll claiming weariness suited her. That, and she did not want to face a world in which the Wolf Collaborate took advantage of the disaster and following chaos and make a bid to kick Dentheria out of the vassal states.

Too many she loved would sacrifice their lives for that dream. Faelan, Midir, Jarosa, Carnvial, the Blue Council, the Jiy rebels . . .

Patch . . .

She hauled herself to her feet before she thought herself into tears, following the wish of her stomach to fill it with more than air. She glanced about the empty area of discarded outerwear and rumpled bedrolls and sighed to herself.

Peeking around the divider confirmed her suspicion; humans and khentauree crowded into the room and stared at the screen. Patch tipped back a jug of wake juice—and that they even had such a thing hinted at how often he visited. She padded to his side, and he offered it to her with a grin. She took it, smelled it, decided she could use a punch of bitter, and guzzled it. Wincing, she handed it back and rubbed at her mouth with her knuckles. He kissed her head, but the expected chuckles at her reaction did not fall from his lips. Guessing the cause, she switched her attention to the screen.

“—has no comment at this time.” The newswoman swiveled in her chair and faced a suited man and the man in uniform from the night before. “Lead Commander Craysoll, what do you make of High Counselor Makethryn’s reluctance to issue an official statement concerning the tragedy?”

The military man shook his head. “High Counselor Makethryn ignoring this disaster won’t make it miraculously go away. The Lords’ and Second Councils can’t hide from what happened. The skyshroud crash is a spectacular failure, and neglecting to acknowledge their role, or confirm or deny the rumors that there’s an aquatheerdaal shortage, won’t help them in the coming days. That the whole of our government in Allesha is so reluctant to officially speak about what happened is concerning. Having statements by Counselor Viron or Counselor Staliss is a step, but neither are heads of their respective councils, nor are they the High Counselor.”

The newsman nodded gravely. “We have a clip of Prelate Desora.”

The image switched to a bundled man in a thicker-than-thick black coat that poofed out so much the collar nearly hid his ashen face. He stood in front of a columned building and gripped the sides of the podium as he leaned closer to his audience. “No, we have not heard from High Counselor Makethryn, nor from Lord Delthan or Counselor Nesen. We’ve tried to contact their offices, but we’ve only gotten a promise of a future call. The Lords’ and Second Counselors we’ve managed to speak with want to help, but until an emergency meeting’s called, they can’t do anything. We need help now!”

The newsman reappeared. “Prelate Desora wants a state of emergency declared so Trave can procure more aid from the capital.”

“Makethryn should have declared that last night,” Craysoll agreed, seething. “Her silence will only make things worse.”

“And what do you make of Torc Bedan?” the newswoman asked. The clip from the previous night appeared on-screen, in the right-hand corner.

“What is going on?” Craysoll asked, thumping the desk. “Is the skyshroud under attack? Those look like offensive shots taken at the skyshroud from the base, and it look like they succeeded!”

“With an update, let’s go to Leeve Dow in the field.” the newswoman said. The screen split to show her and a shivering woman in a furred coat, her hood whipping about in the harsh wind.

“Thank you Reda. All roads from Trave to Torc Bedan are closed. We’re waiting behind a military blockade, and no one will speak with us. Military vehicles are heading into the valley, all with heavy artillery and manned by several men.” The wind blew bits of snow around her, and she staggered slightly in the gust. She raised a hand to keep the left side of her hood out of her face. “We also witnessed two core crackers with them. Since these machines are for frontline offensives, it may be that we are witnessing a Wolf Collaborate attack. Back to you, Reda.”

Lapis raised her eyebrows. They were trying to blame what happened on empire rebels? Assholes.

“It’s not a Wolf Collaborate attack.” Both newspeople looked surprised at Craysoll’s vehement insistence. “The Wolf Collaborate does not have the means or backing to take down a skyshroud, but syndicates do.”

The newspeople glommed onto that like a dog gnawing a bone. Lapis wondered if the Councils decided to let their people muddle the message until they buried the true cause of the catastrophe—their own neglect—under conspiracy theories. Pointing fingers at not-so-innocent crime syndicates suited that need well.

Lapis’s eyes focused on the yellow beam as the clip re-ran yet again. “Did the military khentauree have weapons other than those based on aquatheerdaal?”

Human heads turned to the khentauree, who clustered together in the back to watch the screen, present but apart.

“There were many experimental devices implanted in khentauree,” Dov said. They lay on the ground, and she noticed a metal patch on their lower back; had a modder delved into their injury and fixed the problem? “Some melted chassis, some fizzled and the khentauree fell to the enemy. Older models had many different ways to attack, but that was before aquatheerdaal proved stable as an energy source. I am not so familiar with these older devices.”

“But Vision is,” Tuft said. He stood, arms crossed, though Lapis swore he looked tired. How could a mechanical being with a metal chassis look tired? Did anyone else think so? Maybe she just plunked her own weariness onto him. “Luveth is younger, but she might know as well.”

“I’m sure Luveth will love to chat about it,” she said. She must have sounded more sarcastic than she wanted, because her small rebel group winced. “Sovicci said Vision was a special khentauree. A recon assist.”

“Yes. She has more knowledge than the rest of us concerning military khentauree because she lived it. Also, Gedaavik gave history to her, and she protects it. She is vicious, in its defense.”

Lapis did not want to meet a vicious Vision. Her manipulations were bad enough.

“He gave history to Ghost, too,” Chiddle said. “He said we would need it, as the future is unknowable and the past can make sense of the strangeness.”

“Ghost wasn’t a recon assist, was he?” Lapis asked.

“No, but Ghost is special.” He paused, then swiveled his head to her. “He says Gedaavik was his father. I think there is more to it than uploading special code, but he came before me, before Sanna. We have only known Ghost as Ghost.”

“Vision says the same of Gedaavik,” Tuft said. “She speaks little of it, for the Cloisters khentauree are wed to Maphezet Kez and his corruption.”

Lapis recalled Vision claiming Tuft viewed him as a father as well. Did Chiddle or Sanna?

Dov buzzed, an ominous sound, and the ice khentauree looked at him.

“And what have I said that is wrong? How many khentauree did Luveth harm, to keep Kez’s ideals alive? You are one of them. You know of which I speak.”

Dov wished to go to silence, and Luveth had said no. That counted as harm. Did he still desire it?

“Talk with Dreamer when you return to the Cloister. He has walked outside, he has seen his dreams realized—and Luveth had nothing to do with it.”

“He transferred to the blank meant for Ree-god,” Dov seethed.

“Ree-god is dead.” Tuft’s whip-sharp tone caused the khentauree to shudder. “So is Maphezet Kez. They died long ago, and their voices should have shriveled with their body. Luveth kept them alive for no reason other than pain.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then why? Why demand acquiescence to dead humans? Why obey that which made us no better than dogs eager to follow the command of a master?”

The furious buzzing that followed concerned Lapis, but she doubted Dov could harm Tuft. Chiddle returned to the screen; unconcerned or embarrassed?

A cool air flowed through the doorway, leaving cold in its wake. Lapis shuddered and Patch wrapped his arm around her, lending a bit of warmth. The caretaker shuffled in, slapping his gloves on his thighs to rid them of matted snow. “Swifts’re here,” he announced. “You’ll not be taking off ‘til nightfall. We’ve reports that vassal state governments are reacting to the crash by restricting access into and out of their countries.”

“Indeed.” Jo Ban walked out of the right-hand hallway that led to the underground mod center, rubbing his hands. “The Swifts aren’t quite what we need, but they will have to do. I’m afraid the Minq will be in one with the captives and the Meergeven scientist, and everyone else will ride in the second. We’ll be transporting medical equipment to keep the man alive, and the devices are large enough to take up most of the space.”

Lapis did not want to be in the same Swift as the Drakes or Fraze anyway, so that suited her.

“Breaking News!”

Lapis frowned and turned back to the screen; the woman sounded upset. “Lord Celem, cousin to High Counselor Makethryn, has just announced he will give an update at the steps of the Councils’ Building.”

Jo Ban sucked in his breath and Amarie, who sat on a couch with Vu Ne straightened.

“Lord Celem?” she asked, confused. “But—”

The screen showed a chubby man with red cheeks and ruffled grey hair, wearing a typical Lords’ Council outfit of long, brocade tunic with fitted black jacket. Behind him were men and women, but none of them wore an official uniform or any other indication of rank, just expensive coats to keep out the cold. Each seemed over-pleased about something, a strange look for so solemn a day. They stood in front of a screen attached to the building that had instructions to Allesha citizens concerning any help they wished to send to Trave.

“People of Dentheria and its vassals,” he began. A shiver raced up Lapis’s spine at the thin, whiny tone. He licked his lips, then reached out and grabbed the side of the podium. Something about the action, him . . .

Vu Ne folded his hands and leaned over his knees, and she saw her suspicions reflected in him. The room fell silent.

“This is a day of sadness and mourning, and unfortunately I, with great sorrow, bring terrible news on top of the disastrous crash last night.”

Great sorrow? He had trouble quelling his smile.

“I regret to inform you that Counselor Makethryn was at the Leads attending a joint military meeting when the skyshroud crashed.”

“He’s lying,” Lapis said as the newspeople gasped, stunned at the revelation. He waited for the declaration to sink in as he again quelled a smile, his eyes glinting as if he could not quite contain his glee. At least two of the people standing behind him bowed their heads to hide their satisfaction.

“A coup,” Jo Ban said. His voice crackled with the embers of deep fury. “Makethryn would never travel during the night to the Leads for a meeting.”

“I don’t see Lord Delthan or Counselor Nesen with him, either,” Vu Ne said. “The prelate said he hadn't spoken to them. Do you think Celem took out all three?”

“This is a terrible day for Dentheria,” the man continued, attempting to shove sorrow into his voice and failing. “But the councils are not rudderless. We rushed an emergency meeting, and they elected me to serve as High Counselor during this crisis.”

“NO!” Amarie yelled. “What about Raidyth? He inherits!”

Lapis’s mind drifted, as if on a calm sea under an unforgiving sun, as the man gave a brief overview of his cousin’s time as High Counselor, made no comment concerning Raidyth, and left without answering the questions shouted at him by the shocked newspeople rushing to the stairs. He gave a wave before hastening up the remaining steps and whisking into the Councils’ Building while guards placed themselves in the way.

Was this happening? Had this Celem assassinated the most powerful people in the Dentherion Empire? What did that mean?

“Stars help us,” the newswoman said as the screen returned to her. She straightened as if someone off-camera screamed at her, but she could not shove a false smile onto her lips as she started a shuddery recap.

“Noooo.” Amarie’s broken sobs shattered the stunned silence, and she buried her face in her hands. “Not Raidyth.”

“We’ll need more than the Stars’ help,” Sils murmured as he stared at the screen. Rebels and the shop workers voiced soft, adamant agreement. “Especially if the rumors about Celem are true.”

“Sils, get Shara on the comms,” Jo Ban said. The modder did not argue with his strict, fiery tone, and raced to the hallway that led to the modding lab.

The dull creep of sick dread crawled up Lapis’s back, oozed through her chest, and clogged her throat. A man who took advantage of a terrible disaster like the skyshroud crashing to place himself as High Counselor was not someone who would ever have the best interest of Dentheria, let alone the vassal states, in mind.

Patch drew her close, but she could not wallow in the comfort she normally found in his embrace.