Lapis expected a larger contingent of armed protectors to seep out of the rooms, intent on safeguarding Midir, but only three others popped in after Varr’s roar, all wearing typical brown leather and no identifying cloth or badge.
“How close are they to the Swan, Captain?” Varr asked.
“We’re just down the street,” she said heavily. “You need to evacuate, my lord.”
Patch had contingency plans for nearly everything, something he shared with Varr. Lapis scooted over to Ciaran and they waited patiently for orders, though her heart beat hard and fast against her chest.
What if Perben had followed them? What if he brought Gall’s soldiers to the Kells to get rid of his most pressing threat? She should have been more careful, she should have used more backways and ugly alleys to reach their destination. Guilt slammed her, hard, and she fought against it—a losing battle, but she fought anyway.
A hard crack and crash resounded from the outer door. The leather-clad people, one man, two women, rushed towards the commotion with Varr as Patch retrieved two lamps from a closet. He turned a knob to light them and handed one to Ciaran before opening a door next to the large window and jerking his hand to them.
Ciaran made certain to bring up the rear, which prompted more guilt, but it allowed her to hustle onward with Neassa, who had turned a not-healthy shade of pale and rapidly blinked over-bright eyes. She smiled at her and settled her hand on her back, hoping it brought some comfort.
Patch led them down a steep flight of creaking stairs that went down further than five stories. It ended in a small earthen room once used as a cellar. The rotting wooden shelves held no items, which was fine because the thick, musty smell would have seeped into anything stored there and made it inedible. A rough, dark tunnel braced by wooden beams stood opposite them.
The air silently vibrated after another explosion, and bits of dust and dirt erupted from the walls. The larger debris hit the ground in a shower, the rest dirtied the air and hung there, bright sparkles in the lamplight. Her partner rushed them through the passage, and they exited into a hallway completely covered in large white squares. Grime coated them, but the surfaces remained clean enough their soft glow lit the space, and far better than the lamps.
“What are those?” Neassa asked as she peered at the tiles, distracted.
“Some sort of pre-Dentherion light,” Patch replied. “This part of the Kells has hundreds of similar tunnels. Most are still in use because so many underbosses live here. They’re pretty overprotective of the tiles since they’re left-over tech from before the invasion, and no one knows what they’re made of, let alone how to replace them. So don’t touch them.”
What material still produced light after two hundred years? Lapis’s curiosity about tech rarely elicited answers to her questions because no one knew. She supposed there might be an old book somewhere in a noble’s library that spoke of the miraculous accomplishments, but those remained far outside her ability to access.
They proceeded through short hallways and larger rooms, some dimmer, some brighter. Broken, rusting metal tech casings lined the walls, with buttons, levers, cracked screens. Some contained cabinets below them, the doors asunder, wires tangled about the interior. Fractured, dented lockers with thick cobwebs stood in a few spaces, small mounds of debris dusted against them; the rest of the passages looked as if someone habitually swept them. If underbosses used them, that made sense.
Neassa had her sleeves bunched up and shoved under her nose, as if she did not like the rot-underlying-dust smell that permeated their path. Lapis would have done the same, if she thought it would block the stench.
The Stone Streets had several underground escape routes, too, ones that failed to help the royal family and their retainers evade Dentherion soldiers, but which served modern guttershanks well. Considering the rot that seeped into the very earth there, Lapis never attempted to enter one, no matter how lucrative the stake. But, perhaps, she needed to ask Patch and Brander about other, viable routes.
They exited into a humongous, shadowy room with a high ceiling hidden by a dull brownish haze. The whitish tile lights disappeared, replaced by the flickering flame of multiple fires. People crowded about them, singles, families, some cooking, some huddled close for warmth. Boxcars of various dilapidated states spanned the entirety of it in irregular rows, some decorated with curtains, some with yard art stuck near the makeshift doors, some painted bright colors at odds with the hazy and dull atmosphere. Stairways ran up to a brighter lit second story that wrapped about the walls, and more sound came from the area.
“What is this place?” Neassa asked, nervous, distrustful.
“Underville,” Patch said shortly before he led them through a back alley that skirted the better-lit sections containing people.
Lapis caught Neassa’s step. “Underville’s a community where shanks beholden to underbosses live,” she whispered. “The ones here don’t make enough money to pay rent in a better place, but they’re on a high enough rung they can stay here rather than the Stone Streets. Some of them are very wanted criminals, so Underville’s their hideout. Guards don’t come here, which suits everyone just fine.”
Underville was notorious for letting residents be. It had a loose sense of community that the underbosses promoted, but little beyond that. They took pride in being a step up from the Stone Streets, however they managed to obtain it. Lapis never had cause to visit, but Patch caught many a stake there. They accepted his presence as they accepted any other, and his reputation kept him safe amongst the thieves. A few had even helped him, figuring that, if a shank did something terrible enough that the famous assassin hunted them down, a decent payday as ‘keeper would ensue.
Patch never skimped on paying for that help. He had a quiet, melancholy respect for those living there, for they managed a way out of the Stone Streets, however illegal.
A burly man with dull brown, cropped hair, dull brown skin, and dull brown clothing, sat atop a stout box to the side of a wide, empty doorway. Hanging fruit oil lamps lit the corridor beyond, their scent spicy and sweet. He noted them and did nothing as they passed through; Patch poured a few coins into a dented metal bowl next to him. He accepted the bribe with a grunt, then gaped in shock when he realized the price paid for his silence.
The corridor led to a wide set of chipped concrete stairs with a mangled, discolored rail down the middle. Faint square grout lines marred the walls, indicating someone had long ago looted the light-producing tiles. They climbed three floors before they left the underground. A curved metal awning spanned the entrance, heavily dented but still standing. Taller, Dentherion-constructed buildings circled it, the narrow gaps between providing convenient escape routes.
Patch led them to one, then halted. “I’m going to scout ahead,” he told them in a deep, emotionless whisper. “Lapis, Ciaran, you shouldn’t have any problems. This is the least-used exit from Underville, so there shouldn’t be more than a person or two using it. If you see more than that, head to the street. I’ll find you.”
Lapis had stood through more agonizing waits for Patch than she cared to think about, but the present one proved especially painful. What would she do, if he did not come back? She would get Midir to safety, probably to the House where Faelan and his people could help him, then return, searching for her partner. She always thought about losing him when she stood alone, in dread anticipation, and made mental plans to look for him, to find him, take him to a doctor if necessary. She never got past that part, because she did not think she could bear to violently lose another close to her.
She almost laughed. She never pondered it, but that might explain her deep, inscrutable reluctance to renew ties with family and friends from her youth. Death stalked nearly all of them.
Midir exuded calm, standing with his hands behind his back, while Neassa paced, her small fists under her armpits. “Are you alright?” She had to ask, considering the situation.
He nodded. “I don’t think I’m in any danger, actually.”
Ciaran raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“Adrastos has corresponded about his current underground affairs. He’s pissed off the underboss you mentioned earlier, Hoyt. If the man deals in Taangis tech, as Adrastos thinks, he might believe that his men have the weapons to take him and his guard out. They don’t. They’re underfunded, undertrained, and Adrastos and his people have years of experience with forbidden, illegal things.” He laughed without humor. “I think this Hoyt tried to catch him and his people unaware, hoping for revenge. My being there was a coincidence, nothing more.”
“If they believe an important guest was there, and that harming them would harm Adrastos, you still are in danger,” Ciaran pointed out.
“True, but they have no idea who that guest is. And they will not find out—I doubt you realize, but the Minq’s third-ranked underboss lives on the fourth floor. Attacking anywhere near the building guarantees syndicate involvement, and Hoyt will wish to his dying day, he had not roused them. Shara refuses to bow to the warlike behavior of her predecessor, but she will act on an obvious threat to her people.”
“You know the Minq’s primary underboss?” Lapis asked.
“She’s my cousin,” Neassa murmured, so quiet her words barely made it past her lips. “I’ve introduced them. Shara’s a wonderful person, she really is, and she has far more friendly feelings towards the rebellion than the throne assumes.”
Lapis almost laughed at the absurdity. One did not become an underboss of the Minq through wonder and nice thoughts.
“The Minq are a bit different than you might suspect,” Midir agreed. “The larger organization is sympathetic to rebel causes because Lord’s Council incompetence has affected their business, and therefore, the money flow. They may be greedy, but they also take their status as grand old syndicate very seriously, with several members claiming the Minq began the original rebellion against the Dentherion empire. A conceit, surely, but one I work with.”
Perhaps Midir did not remain as hidden as she assumed.
Patch returned, slipping into the alley silently enough, Neassa did not realize he stood next to her until she turned.
“Well, it’s becoming a full-blown underwar out there,” he grumbled. “The guard and palace soldiers are just arriving, and they’re targeting any large group just in case they’re involved. We need to get out of here. Lapis.”
She focused on him.
“Rik’s here, with his cart stuck in a line of drivers. He has crates with Lord Daros’s seal, so he probably has a pass the guards will accept if they stop him. Ask if he wouldn’t mind taking you across the bridge, then get Midir to the Eaves. Neassa, do Shara’s people know you?” She nodded. “Good. She has access to a particular section of tunnel that leads under the river. We’ll need your connections to use it. Ciaran, you’re with us.”
Patch trusted her with Midir’s safety. The sudden bout of cold anxiety combated with the warmth filling her chest; he believed her competent enough to keep the heir to the Jilvayna throne protected. “Where’s Rik?”
“Down the street from here, near Greenling Park.” He pointed to the left and south.
She hugged him briefly, then hugged Ciaran. “Stay safe,” she said, ignoring his startled look. She may not have spoken with him for eight years, but she had strong, wonderful memories of him, and that he worked to bring the traitor to justice without losing his objective proved his integrity.
She led Midir away, thankful he did not have an eyesore of an outfit that would draw unwanted attention. How drastically he had changed, from the ostentatious noble she remembered.
Rik looked bored. He lounged back against the backboard of his cart, one leg up, arm on the knee, loosely holding Megan’s reins. The horse appeared as apathetic as her owner, perhaps a tad more annoyed. The way she eyed the park’s grass, she obviously wanted dinner—a meal that would be long in coming. They stood in a lengthy line, among others who shrieked at each other and waved their arms at the guards hastily finishing a blockade. Good thing so many horses and oxen wore blinkers to keep them visually ignorant of the alarm.
“Hey, Rik.”
He glanced over and smiled in greeting. “Lady,” he said pleasantly. “On a stake?”
She nodded. “Any chance we can hitch a ride?”
He laughed. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “If we ever reach the bridge. Hop up.” He eyed Midir. “Your partner?”
She shook her head. “No. This is Midir, a family friend. Midir, this is Rik. He’s an Eave’s staple.” She jerked her chin at the cartman. “If you’re there tonight, you’re going to meet him, though.”
Rik’s dark eyes lit. Midir laughed.
The noble sat with the driver, while she planted herself atop a crate, high enough for a good view of the gathering crowd. Everyone she noticed looked upset at the unexpected delay, and more than one grumbled threats towards the hapless guards and their impromptu checkpoint. Talk died abruptly and Rik sucked in a large breath as an entire guardhouse worth of men moved past, swords in hand, stern and determined.
“What’s going on?”
“Explosions and underground fighting.”
He attempted to hide his sudden fear under a thick layer of disgust. “Figures, when I have a load.” He glanced at her and weakly grinned, a poorly implemented mischievous look better suited to Rin. “This is an important shipment from a noble, and I have papers. They won’t detain us, even if there’s trouble.”
Despite the reassurance, the guard checking passes regarded them suspiciously, ignoring the shrill shrieks of sidelined drivers while he sharply interrogated Rik. His eyes drifted to her, and on impulse, she smiled.
“Lord Daros likes to keep his merchandise safe and on time,” she said.
“Safe?” he asked, squinting at her waist. He expected a sword?
She triggered her blades. The guard started, made a disgusted-but-agreeing expression, and waved them on. Rik’s tense smugness, combined with the guard’s annoyance, hinted at previous clashes, and she hoped it did not come back to bite her in the future. Chasers needed to stay on the good side of those that paid them.
Of course, guards needed to stay on the good side of court nobles, especially the nasty ones with guttershank reputations but enough wealth to cover their misdeeds.
“How did you know this is Lord Daros’s stuff?” Rik asked, glancing at her after they placed a lengthy distance between them and the guard.
She just grinned.
They chatted on idle topics of no import. Midir exuded calm, with his voice, his casual way of sitting, and Rik relaxed enough to ask a couple of impertinent questions that elicited laughter but no serious answer. He even graciously dropped them off at the Eaves before he continued with his delivery, though she had no doubt, he would return quickly. His curiosity about her partner demanded no less.
She almost mistrusted their luck, but accepted it. She would far rather have an uneventful travel-by-cart than a fight with underground shanks and suspicious guards. “I owe you,” she told him. He waved a hand at her, amused.
“If you insist, but really, it’s not necessary.” A raindrop plopped on her nose, and he glanced up, hand held out, squinting. “Maybe buy me a warm drink when I get here.”
“I can do that.” She had not realized the cold, but now that rain splashed on her, she felt it, deep. Her body moved stiffly to the door, and Midir stretched before following. She eyed the custom, did not see anyone of suspicion, but as soon as she got Midir settled, she would conscript Rin and Lyet and have them help her complete a quick tour about the place. Rin, especially, had a good sense of who belonged and who did not, and any skulkers would grab his attention.
The interior was a warm, cozy yellow, somewhat hazy with lamp oil. The number of people startled her, considering how the rain had kept so many in their homes. Regulars met her eye, and those she did not recognize looked as they should—common Grey Streets residents out for dinner or drinks in a not-so-expensive place. A couple hailed her, but most ignored her.
Lapis thought Dachs’ reaction to Faelan surprising if amusing. Upon beholding Midir, he looked as if a heavenly being had floated down to him, blinding with holy light, then demanded a disgustingly cheap beer from the bar. He recovered quickly and hustled over, despite the full counter. What position had he in the rebellion that he had met the heir to the Jilvaynan throne?
“Dachs,” Midir said warmly, shaking his hand.
“Welcome to the Eaves, my lord.” His respect startled Lapis, but she understood it. “I’ve food, drink. Anythin’ I can possibly get, I’ll get.”
“A rain sour, if you have it,” Midir murmured. “It seems the night for it.”
“There’s an underbattle going on in the Kells,” Lapis said drily as the barkeep raised an eyebrow. “Explosions and everything.”
“That’s odd.” His eyebrows knit in a deep frown. “Been quiet, these past few years, since Shara took over. The other underbosses aren’t that interested in bickerin’ anymore.”
“Hoyt might have something to do with it.”
Dachs pursed his lips unhappily. “Figures, eh. Hubris kills the delusional. Tea for you?” She nodded. “I’ll bring the drinks. Take a seat, if you can find one.”
Lapis smiled and glanced at the corner. Yes, she told the rats to hide at the Eaves, but the numbers surrounding the table startled her. Hopefully Rin did not complain too much about his new abode being an urchin shelter for a few days. She understood, the need to make a new space one’s home before inviting guests.
“I told the rats to stay here because they might be a target for knowing me,” Lapis whispered to Midir as she touched his arm and indicated the far table. “Someone’s after Patch, and they’ve targeted me to get to him. Do you mind sitting with them?”
“If they think to threaten Patch through you, that’s ill-conceived,” he murmured back. He had a soft, warm smile, putting her uncertainty to rest. “And of course not. This is the famous reading circle?”
Famous? “Yes.” Her brother mentioned his interest as well. What was it about the circle that caught their attention? She squeezed through bodies of custom, then wedged herself into the table and leaned over, avoiding the books sprawled across the surface. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through her chest at the sight. Despite the danger, they read. She noted Nerik, the Wings, a few others who had not officially joined, but she preferred them in the Eaves than in the streets.
Their eyes took in Midir, then focused on her.
“This is Midir,” she told them. “Be nice. And be nicer—and then nicer than that.” She forced her face to match her sternness; every rat paused, reflecting her seriousness. She eyed Scand and Brone, Phialla and Gabby—and noticed Phialla wore new glasses. Rin had done as she asked and taken the girl to the eye doctor, without a reminder. The thin, silver rims and clear glass were almost unnoticeable; hopefully they held up under street rat forays. “There’s trouble from the Kells that might reach here. I need to scout the exterior. If anyone comes in who’s suspicious and Dachs gives the word, you need to get him away from here and to the meeting place near Scand’s cubby. Understood?”
Four heads nodded.
“Where’s Rin?”
“He’n Lyet are up in the room,” Scand told her with a straight face. Just her luck, to interrupt.
Dachs bustled up, rain sour and warm tea in hand. Midir accepted with quiet thanks, and Lapis happily took her drink. Eight years ago, the heir would have said nothing polite and simply waved his hand, dismissing the barkeep as if he were a servant. A small thing, but it emphasized his changes. The guilt over her family’s death must weigh like a necklace of boulders around his neck, to shift his behavior so.
“Where’s Varr?” he asked.
“Coming,” Midir promised. “Along with my assistant, Ciaran, and the Lady’s partner.”
Everyone in the Eaves who had a passing acquaintance with her and were near enough to hear, perked up. The noble smashed his lips together as he realized the unwanted attention, and took a long drink.
The color rose in her cheeks and to cover her reaction, she breathed in the steam rising from the tea. “Dachs, I need to look around.”
“I’ll be alert.” He settled a hand against her arm. “Take care, Lady. An underwar’s nothin’ to mess with.”
“Yeah. We got caught in between. Not a comfy place.” She left Midir with Dachs and the rats; even if the rats did not know what was at stake, Dachs did, and he would react accordingly. She savored the warmth of the drink as she hustled up the stairs, not wishing to bother the two teens, but needing their aid.
She knocked, hard. “Rin, I need your help,” she called. The door opened almost immediately, which startled her; Lykas held the knob, with Jandra sitting against the wall, keeping the other two company. Relieved and embarrassed, she stepped inside.
The room felt sparse, but the lack of furniture was likely due to the sprawl of ragged blankets and bedding and packs belonging to other urchins, that ran through the open door and into the smaller study. A lamp glowed dimly from the top of a small crate, casting all in warm shadows. Any lingering street smell fell under the soft scent of baking spice incense.
“Lady?” Rin asked, rising from the new, large bed set in the far corner, neatly made with dark blue sheets and a much larger comforter.
“There was syndicate trouble at the Kells,” she told them. “I rescued an important noble who got caught in between the fight and I have to make certain no one followed us. I need your help, to look around.” She eyed all four of them. “If you aren’t busy.”
“I’s the Lady’s man,” he reminded her, puffing up with importance. Lyet grabbed her cloak from a bar nailed to the wall, placed far too straight for Rin to have managed it on his own, and handed another to Jandra. The lads did without; she supposed rain-sodden rat was the least of her worries.
“Look around. If you see anyone suspicious, tell me when we meet back up at the residence back door. Don’t engage. There were explosions, so they’re using some nasty stuff and you don’t want to be a target.”
That sobered them, but all four followed her down the stairs anyway. Some called street rats cowards because they ran from everything, but her experience proved the exact opposite.
“If you see a giant of a man, that’ll be Varr,” she told them as she set the teacup on the tiny corner table and opened the back door. The rain fell, light but steady, the precursor to a cold downpour. “Dark beard, greyish-brown eyes. You can’t miss him. Believe me. He’s the noble’s bodyguard, and if you see him, tell him where we are. You remember Ciaran? He’s with the noble’s assistant and my partner. We separated, and I’m not certain when they’re going to show up.”
“Your partner?” Rin asked, hesitant curiosity lighting his eyes.
“Aren’t you lucky, you get to meet him.” She pointed down the alley, uncertainty squirreling about her tummy. He would see Patch as an idol, someone to imitate. He dealt with the dangerous stakes she wanted to keep the rat far, far away from, and which he would find far, far more interesting than her hum-drum chases. “Rin, Lyet, take the alley to Coin Street. Look around, take Shicker Way back. Lykas, Jandra, go the other way to the Bits, and loop around to Candor. I’ll take the rest.” She eyed them sternly. “Be careful. Don’t engage. You need to live long enough to meet my partner.”
“That’s why we’re going with them,” Lyet told her drily. Jandra laughed gaily, as the lads glared.
Lightning flared, thunder cracked, loud enough to startle her. She shooed them on and began her tour, weaving through the rapidly thinning crowds as she scouted the immediate area around the Eaves. She noted no one of interest and even recognized a face or two. People hurried on their way, escaping to whatever shelter they could manage. Hopefully Mama Poison stayed in during this storm because Lapis did not want to avoid her again.
She glanced into other establishments, but the patrons looked normal—normal Grey Streets citizens, normal tourists, normal shanks. One woman stood outside her chosen shelter, wobbling about, drink in hand, half-under the awning while her other side got soaked, but Lapis decided her altered state explained her soddenness.
She almost returned in relief—almost. But something nagged at her. She experienced the internal warning when she sensed something wrong on a stake. She normally left the situation or hid, avoiding harm, but she did not have the luxury that night because she needed to keep Midir safe. He, of all the rebels, was the most important man in Jilvayna, and they could not lose him to her mistake.
She almost ran into two men as they exited a dive bar down the street from the Eaves, annoyed and muttering. She bowed low in apology and murmured quietly enough they could not make out her words. They glanced at her, and she fought not to tug her hood further over her eyes. She recognized them as having accompanied Perben during his tour with Relaine. They showed no interest or recognition, and she gratefully accepted that the rainy night darkened her visage enough they could not see her.
They viewed the rain with disgust. “How much longer should we stay out?” one asked.
“Let’s go back,” the other grumbled. “No one’s going to be out who isn’t already out. If she did run some errand for him, he didn’t send her here.”
“Teivel’s right,” the first said. “There’s something odd about her, but I don’t think it’s nefarious.”
Lapis curled her lip. Nefarious? Is that what he told his friends?
“He’s just pissed Faelan’s relying on her instead of him. He needs to accept, their friendship’s dead. Being Leader went to his head. He’s too important for us now.”
She wanted to throw up. She had to get away. She made a show of racing from one awning to the next, but neither paid her attention as they wandered in the opposite direction, tangentially towards the House. She circled about in the darker alleys and caught up to them on Coin Street, but they hustled on, hunched over as the rain pounded the backs of their heads and shoulders. Good. She did not think she needed to fret about them that night.
No one else waited at the back door when she arrived, and a prickle of worry spread through her chest. Yes, they had farther to walk than she, and it made sense they would arrive later, but she still anxiously waited. A guttershank might try to take advantage of the situation, and her guilt would never end if any of them suffered injury because she needed help.
The soft crunch of boots alerted her before she recognized the gait, and she sagged as Patch rounded the corner. He kept to the shadows of the building, but the blue decoration that lined his patch glinted in a circular pattern, giving his position away. He must have taken a walk around as well, and activated his tech. He dripped, and his clothing clung to him like a second skin—and her lust kicked in. Dammit, she had other worries. She still wrapped herself about him and hugged tight; he returned it, his lips resting against her temple, his breath warm against her cold skin.
“Did you have trouble?” he asked as he reached up and pressed the center of the patch. The glints faded away.
“No. Rik’s pass and me pretending to be escorter-of-goods got us on the bridge. He even brought us to the Eaves’ door. The tunnel was fine?”
“Yes. Shara was near, getting ready for an assault. She was very, very happy Neassa made it out of the zone without mishap. Neassa mentioned her cousin has a strong attachment to members of her family, but I disregarded it. She’s an underboss, after all. But her concern wasn’t fake. Apparently she and Adrastos are on better terms than he implied, because she’s concerned about him, too.”
“I sent Rin and Lyet and Lykas and Jandra to look about. They aren’t back yet.” She hissed out her breath. “I saw two of Perben’s men. They were looking for me but decided to leave because they didn’t find me and it’s raining. One said there’s something odd about me, like Perben said, but he doesn’t think it’s nefarious. They think Faelan’s no longer friends with him because he’s too conceited now.”
“Those fucks,” Patch said, with a depth of disgusted animosity he rarely expressed. Patch hated many things, but he normally kept the darker loathing bottled in her company. “You need to stay with Faelan until I get there. We don’t know what Perben’s planning, but I do know he won’t attack your brother.”
“Faelan already told me I needed company.”
“He’s right. Perben’s hidden his involvement with Gall for years—and finding Ailis’s evidence wasn’t easy. He’s devious, so treat him as such.”
She knew that, from painful experience.
“What else is going on? You mentioned there’s more, at the apartment.”
“Other than my life falling apart before my eyes?”
“You’d never let that happen.” He squeezed tighter and pressed his lips against her ear. “You’re stronger than that. You escaped Nicodem at twelve, without a plan, without help, with terror running at your heels. Renewal of past bonds is hard, but not running-for-your-life hard.” He raised his head. “You see anyone?”
The rats wandered up, each pair holding the cloaks over their heads. Lapis had witnessed shock in them before, but the complete and utter, dropped-jaw, flummoxed expressions annoyed her. Especially Rin’s, because he looked like a confused fish who leapt out of the water, landed on shore, and could not fathom where the water went. She could feel Patch trying desperately not to laugh, and she pulled away, sullen.
Lykas recovered first. Of course he did; he had experience with Patch and his kindness towards street rats. “Rin and Lyet didn’t, but we saw a couple of men near Ruddy’s. They’re standing outside, have drinks they aren’t drinking, and are studying every person walking by. They’re wearing Dentherion clothing. No one around Ruddy’s wears Dentherion clothing.”
Ruddy’s was the dive bar of dive bars. Dentherion anything was far beyond the means of its patrons.
“Show me.” Patch looked down at Lapis while Lykas brightened and Jandra wobbled. “Go drink some tea. You’re freezing.”
She made a face; he ran the backs of his fingers across her cheek before falling into his typical ‘don’t mess with me’ sternness that no one ever transgressed—except for her.
Rin was jealous, Lykas and Jandra got to go with Patch. Lyet just stared as he walked by.
“Are you coming?” Lapis crankily opened the door, knowing that hot tea would not solve her irritation, her concern, her growing terror that Perben knew she survived Nicodem and wanted to finish the job he started eight years ago. She sucked in a huge breath of warm air and touched her gauntlets, attempting to bury her fear.
What was wrong with her? She was no longer the scared twelve-year-old fleeing the ashen remains of her family, her home, her life. She had trained to take the traitor out, vowed to wipe him off the earth and salt his memory. And she would keep that promise, even if it meant acting before Lady Ailis arrived with the evidence.
