The small chit-chat continued as they made their way through the Grey Streets. Lapis had no idea where Brander lived, and she became nervous as they neared the streets her rats traversed. She did not want to explain why she, again, showed up with a large group of people in tow, when, the night before, she had insisted she could not stay at the Eaves. As anticipated, Rin despised her abdication and hated her refusal to enlighten him even more.

She had a sinking feeling, he would discover her secrets long before she shared them.

She noted a few non-reading circle urchins, and while they studied her and her companions closely, they did not approach. They neared the Lells, and she desperately wanted to plead with Brander, but remained silent. Her rats would be out and about, and the dread that twisted her stomach when they beheld Faelan grew.

The thief led them to a three-story apartment building that rested one street over from the market. While not a marvel of luxury, with a brown-washed exterior, chipped wooden railings and a dingy, brown-tiled roof, it and its four sisters had the reputation of being far nicer than the average Grey Streets living space. The abodes had several rooms, access to water, and a multitude of windows that looked out onto bush-lined walkways. They mostly housed the better-off merchants who did not make enough money to move to a place like the Gardens.

The upper-story doorway Brander opened was a dingy blue, and it did not prepare her for the tidy and well-maintained interior. The walls had an unchipped wash of dark taupe, which matched well with the darker wooden furniture and the deep brown trappings. The outer room held two couches, several padded chairs, one large square table and one short round one. Displays on the wall held several bladed weapons in nicely decorated sheaths and a few musical instruments. A kitchen with dark cabinets stood at the back, a small fire smoldering in the stove. The right held a closed doorway, and Lapis wondered how many more rooms the place had.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” the thief told them wryly. “My sister cleans for me because she can’t stand the state I leave this place in. It’s too nice an apartment to leave it the way I leave it.”

Mairin laughed. “Caitria’s the same way.”

The other woman made a face. “Wading through underwear isn’t the titillating experience that some claim.”

Lapis kept her small room somewhat tidy, though she hardly had a strong neat streak. Lyet did, and at times she would return home to find the teen folding clothes, hanging outfits up, and dusting. She now had a second abode to clean—and she doubted Rin would prove a tidier resident.

Brander gestured to the chairs and couch. “Have a seat.”

He retrieved drinks as they found a place to sit; Lapis sank onto a couch, and immediately regretted the decisions when Faelan plopped down next to her. Dammit, just because the padding looked more comfortable did not mean she should have indulged. She should have dumped herself in a chair.

Brander passed around the ceramic cups and settled a couple of bottles of the fizzy Dentherion drink Rin liked so much onto the table. “I buy this for my niece and nephew, and right now, it’s all I have.”

He made enough money as a thief to afford very nice things.

Faelan poured a cup, a signal the other Blue Council members could drink as well, and leaned back, his contentment slowly leaking away.

“Did you recognize Baldur’s tail?”

“Yes,” Sherridan replied. “We lost him, though. Baldur doesn’t use the best we have, and it shows.”

Lapis had not noticed, though she expected it. Her mind, so preoccupied with the presence of her brother, so concerned with discovery . . . her failure to pay closer attention humiliated her. At least it was a personal, silent humiliation she could shove into the back of her mind to ponder later.

“I’ll make this quick.” Faelan tipped the cup back and guzzled the contents. “While I will replace Baldur during this visit, that’s not the reason the Blue Council is here. We are going to set up a meeting between myself and a potential Dentherion ally. I need your help to accomplish it.”

“No.” The word just popped out. Lapis curled her hands in her lap; could she not just stay silent? Brander and Sherridan looked surprised, but whether due to her outburst or the content of Faelan’s ask, she did not know.

The resigned expressions of the other four, and Faelan’s understanding, made her feel low.

“It’s through the Wolf Collaborate,” he told her gently. “Istak already met with them, and if I also decide they’re serious about aiding us—”

“They’re going to kill you.” She spent the last eight years trying not to care what might happen to him, and now, in person, she could not regain that hate, could not regain her fury, her gut-punch sickness at the betrayal. Not while she sat on the same couch and could see the rope scars on his wrists. How could that have changed her mind so quickly, so drastically?

“Not during that meeting. Patch and Varr will be there. They’ll not allow anything to happen to me.”

They would both die before anyone touched him.

“Midir looked into their background. You know he’d never agree to this if he thought it more dangerous than expected.”

She would know? The way he said it, the conversational tone . . . That meant he knew.

He knew.

“That’s why we are going to choose the meeting place, and why it’s going to be gone over by Patch and Caitria and made as safe as possible.”

“Clandestine meeting in a docks warehouse, with a table in the middle of an empty room?” she asked sarcastically, her heart beating faster.

“Maybe, but I was thinking of something . . . warmer.”

“The Blue Council is not as familiar with Jiy as they are with Coriy or Vraindem,” Caitria said. “We need local suggestions and support, but—” and she held up her hand “—only those who are absolutely loyal can even know about this. Patch was very insistent about who those people are, and I don’t think stepping away from his suggestions is a good idea. Not in the environment Baldur’s created.”

There was a knock on the door. Brander said nothing, but retrieved a knife from the wall before answering. Apparently, he was unaccustomed to guests. Lapis felt dread worm through her, and she touched her left gauntlet; the space, while large for a living quarter in the Grey Streets, did not have enough for maneuvering during a fight. Keeping the larger furniture between the attackers and—

“Guard Superior Fyor says it’s from Sir Armarandos.”

RINAN?

Lapis jumped to her feet and rushed to the door as Brander stepped back, nonchalant, but put his blade on a small entry table next to it, one hidden by the slab of wood. The street rat, accompanied by Scand, held up a very pristine envelope, his normal good humor absent.

“He gave lots of us these,” Rin told her as she snagged it and opened it. Good on him, for not peeking. “Looked real worried, too. There’s not much talk ‘bout last night, but somethin’ happened after we left. Guards ‘r grim ‘n silent.”

Lapis scanned the neat writing.

Lady, I dislike the urgency, but we must speak. Please visit Fyor soon. Sir Armarandos.

Brander raised an eyebrow and she glanced at the thief before grabbing them both and hauling them into the room. Her luck, the two would draw the attention of Baldur’s tail and he would note who stood in the doorway. “When did he give you this?”

“Early, like afore we’s settin’ up at the Lells,” Rinan told her. “He weren’t shy ‘bout it, neither. He tapped Lykas ‘n Jandra, ‘n the Wings. They really want t’ talk t’ you, Lady.”

Scand gasped, brightened, and jumped past her, his attention on the wall and its myriad of weapons. “Scand!” she hissed, which he ignored in favor of standing in awe, staring up at the display. She regarded Brander sourly, but she decided his satisfaction at the rat’s interest in his collection kept him silent. That, and their association with Chinder, gave them a bond that might transcend the streets.

Lapis glanced at the curious others. “Sir Armarandos says we have to speak and that I need to visit Fyor soon.”

“Fyor. You said he was there last night,” Faelan said.

“He’s the Guard Superior for the Lells Guardhouse,” she told him. “He and Sir Armarandos are working together. I thought it was mainly to get Nevid, but maybe tech has more of a role.”

“Or it does now,” Brander murmured. She caught Rin studying Faelan out of the corner of her eye, and she knew his curiosity just kicked into a full and unmitigated flood of interest.

She could no longer hide. The numbing thought drifted away, leaving a hollowness behind.

“Maybe. Or he might have questions about why a hunter’s targeted Lanth,” Tearlach said.

Faelan jumped up. “Let’s go.”

“What?”

“I’m interested in what they have to say.”

“Who said I’m taking you with me?”

“After last night, you need a partner, and everyone else is in the planning stage.”

The benefits of being in charge. Rin smashed his lips together, though she understood the humor welling in the pit of the stomach at the flabbergasted and annoyed responses to the declaration.

“Planning stage?” Ciaran asked darkly.

“How far is the guardhouse?” Faelan asked, ignoring him.

“It’s not,” she began, intent on telling him that the quick jaunt through the Lells would earn her no adverse attention, but he slipped past and opened the door, his long stride easily taking him away. She rushed after him and the rats followed on her heels, anticipatory.

“Don’t take long!” Caitria called as the portal closed. Faelan grinned and hopped down the stairs. Lapis watched, confused, as happiness leaked into the air about him.

“Lady, who’s that?” Rin whispered.

She swallowed and shook her head, a very minute gesture, and bounded down the stairs. She did try to say something, but the words, so accustomed to remaining inside, stuck in her throat. She wanted to stay hidden, she wanted to stay Lady Lanth to her rats. She wanted her old existence back, of plots and plans that remained plots and plans, without action. She wanted Perben dead, but what would she do, once she accomplished it? How radically would her life change?

Patch had asked her not to kill, to injure if necessary, but never kill. He said he understood, too well, the consequences of that darkest path. She refused to ponder it concerning herself, because, in a way, she never imagined the opportunity would arise. She expected to remain sealed away from the greater rebel cause, from her brother, from her enemy. Based on that premise, she created a new life for herself in the Grey Streets. How destructive was the unexpected turn going to be?

Faelan waited for them, almost lazy in his demeanor. She never recalled him enjoying plans and plots, and in the past, he readily used the first excuse available to leave such things to others. He must trust the four other Blue Council members greatly, to do so when his life depended on it.

“I’m Rinan,” Rin said as soon as he cleared the bottom rung.

“And I’m Scand,” Scand piped up. Their normal hesitancy with strangers was absent, and she wondered what they assumed about her brother to cause it.

“Call me Faelan,” he said congenially.

“You’s with them others from yesterday?” Rin asked.

“Yes. I arrived a day too late, it seems.” He smiled, then regarded her. His happiness dimmed ever so slightly. “But it’s never too late to renew kin ties.”

Well, she supposed he could be blunter, but not by much. “It’s been eight years.”

He nodded and fell into step with her as she turned towards the Lells Guardhouse, the rats on her other side. He wanted them to know that, but why did he want their relationship more open? “It seems everything’s changed,” he said. “But maybe not so much.”

What did he mean by that?

“Eight years?” Scand asked. “You’re talking about the fire?”

“It separated us through unintended ignorance,” her brother replied quietly.

“You look lots like the Lady,” Rin told him.

“We inherited our mother’s black hair and purple eyes,” he said. “I don’t think we look that much alike, but most others think we do.”

“I think you do,” Rin stated. Lapis pursed her lips and thought sour negatives at him. It meant that, as she predicted, the Jiy rebels would find the coincidence of black hair and purple eyes too compelling and would gossip about it. The traitor would find out about her long before he saw her, and plan accordingly.

Faelan knew him. He would know both his rebel and non-rebel name. She looked up at him, trying to coalesce a quick strategy to convince him to tell her. He raised an eyebrow, as if realizing her intent. He had a long track record of following her devious mind along its twists and turns and sometimes hampering the ending, but he had kept her from trouble on numerous occasions. Did he still have the knack?

She kept an eye out for the rebel tail as they skirted the main street of the Lells. Rin and Scand remained at her side, alert. Their gaze lingered too long on the average strolling tourist, and she had the urge to hiss at them to stop, but if they recognized someone who truly did not belong, they would tell her. Fyor’s insistent worry played them, hard, because they assumed underground retaliation. That may be; she would find out.

She hurried through the awning shadows and did not cross any of the busy thoroughfares until they reached the street upon which the guardhouse sat a few blocks up. They needed to worm through the crowd to the other side, but no one who might hold ill—

Perben.

Everything melted into a dark red blotch of color, except for that tanned face, those dark eyes, the wispy brown curls that flew about his head as he laughed at something his companions said. Scarlet cheeks, scarlet throat, plain brown clothing . . . who would notice, if she slipped up from behind? She would spray his friends with his blood.

Red broke as Faelan slipped his arm about her shoulders and pulled her under a canopy, behind a stack of boxes of merchandise containing cheap clothing. His other hand rested on her wrist, keeping her arm down.

She had drawn her blade.

“Melanthe.”

Faelan’s stern, cold voice wormed through the heat, chilled the hate, stopped her heart from racing so fast she gasped for breath.

“You know his name.” She sounded ugly. She sounded desperate.

“I’m not making him a martyr.”

“No,” she choked.

“Too many don’t see his evil. Too many will support his memory. We have evidence. You have to let that speak.”

“No.”

“Lady?” Rinan asked, reaching out and touching her arm. His distress flowed over her, grounded her; Scand blinked too rapidly, his eyes over-bright. Blackness fuzzed at the edges of her sight, and she fought for the calm that encompassed her brother.

Dammit. He deserved to die. He deserved a knife to the back. He deserved to feed the ground with his blood and panic as he realized his life ran away with it.

The blade shot back into the sheath and she slumped, trying to suck in a trembling breath. She failed as hot tears heated her eyes and cheeks.

“We need a place for Lanth to calm down,” Faelan whispered, so soft she barely heard him over the general Lells noise.

She was vaguely aware Rin took the lead, of a cool drink set in her hand, Lyet’s urge to drink, and swallowing. She was vaguely aware of the sharp wind slicing through the already muggy heat wafting from the ground. She was vaguely aware of continued tears and her brother’s arms cupping her close.

One sinister, caustic sentence broke through, sharpened her thoughts, her intent. “Accidents are not always accidental,” Faelan said.