They had not reached the booth before Faelan, Jetta trailing, rushed to them. The emotions flitting across his face jumbled together, and Lapis did not know whether hate or sadness or concern rode him. Dark waters of guilt struck her, dragging her under.

He did not need the reminder of Anthea’s death, on so joyous a night.

“Are you alright?” he asked, settling his hand against her upper arm.

The waves receded beneath his apprehension, leaving her wet but whole on the sands of relief. She smiled, wondering how he had already heard about The Gods’ Hands and Lady Damara. “I’m fine. The Minq took them into custody.”

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“Lady Damara and The Gods’ Hands?”

Jetta shook her head, bewildered. “No, he was talking about Adelind.”

Oh.

“You were attacked?” His eyes flicked to Patch. “And you’re still here.” Her partner hmphed at the wary statement, his lip lifting in a snarl. If necessary, Faelan would give him that stern look, order him to leave her alone, and he would comply because the rebel Leader demanded it. Of course, he promised The Gods’ Hands his end, and if his sister just happened to get in the way . . .

“He is, because tonight’s a celebration.” She smashed her lips together, tears welling, sour regret drying her tongue. “I’m sorry Faelan. I should have kept my mouth shut. I—”

He shook his head and cupped the side of her face in his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, too softly, agony lacing his words.

“It’s hard to talk about, and I wanted to speak with Ehren first.” She hugged him because she knew he needed the comfort—and so did she. “I hate her, but she’s a rebel, and if she’s important—”

“She isn’t,” he said, wretched fire in his tone.

“There’s nothing but pain in telling you,” she whispered. “You already mourn Anthea. Why add more to it?”

“You did this as a child, too,” he said, frustrated, his grip tightening. “You think silence protects those you care for, but it doesn’t. It can cause greater harm.”

Greater harm? She trembled as she recalled her wont to neglect mentioning hurtful things to those she cared about, particularly her family. She kept them bottled inside, afraid that the misery inflicted would not equal the love they felt for her and she would lose their support—a belief Faelan unknowingly planted when she was five and he became angry with her for lying about the honey mess. He refused to read her bedtime stories as punishment, and the certainty he hated her forever prompted her sad attempt to run away. She never saw herself as important as her four older siblings, and she dreaded the day her family turned from her in disgust for saying the wrong thing. Keeping silent prevented the inevitable.

“Ehren left,” Jetta told them. “Tearlach and Cena went after him. He shouldn’t be alone right now.” She settled her head against her love’s upper arm. “And I doubt anyone of rebel authority will trust Adelind again. Carnival talked Jarosa out of confronting her after she ran away, like she usually does when she thinks a situation will not go her way.”

“She’s never confronted anything in her whole life,” Lapis grumbled uncharitably.

“Lady Ailis didn’t hold back,” Faelan admitted. “I hadn’t realized it, but Adelind bullied Neola.”

Both she and Neola suffered under Klyo’s spite, no surprise there, though, considering how often Faelan traveled, he might not have realized it.

“Ailis spoke with her mother, who did some nasty things in retaliation for daring to bring it up. She said some teens don’t realize their casual cruelty, but when Adelind didn’t get her way, her mean streak surpassed the typical. I asked her if she had opinions on anyone else still employed by the rebellion. She had to think on it.” He huffed a sigh. “Lanth,” he said, in his ultra-serious tone. “Please, don’t hide anything else.”

She looked up at him and nodded, mainly because she could recall nothing relevant to him to impart.

“So what’s this about The Gods’ Hands and Damara?” he asked, pulling away.

“They’s tryin’ t’ shoot up the Lells,” Rin said with casual aplomb. “Minq grabbed ‘m.”

Faelan and Jetta stared, and her brother slowly shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “I’m not doing this tonight.”

“You need a break,” Jetta agreed.

“And something stronger than wine,” he said.

“I’ll get us something,” Patch said.

Lapis looked at the rat, who shrugged. “Rin can help you carry it back.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“Think of it this way; you won’t have to hold my hand while I apologize for ruining the night.”

“You didn’t ruin the night,” Faelan assured her. “I think—”

“Lady!”

Maydie and Movique rushed up, flapping their hands, worry plastered across their faces. Maydie’s daughter struggled to keep their gait, holding a notebook of flapping pages filled with lists and an impressively gigantic feather pen.

“We were so worried!” Maydie said, setting her hand on her arm in a concerned mother fashion. “The guards said shanks attacked you!”

“It’s true, but nothing happened,” she assured them as Patch and Rin judiciously slipped away. Cowards. “The guards arrested the ones who confronted us, and they made certain that the snipers didn’t shoot.”

“Snipers?” Faelan asked, startled.

“Damara hired shanks to sit up on the roofs with tech,” she said. Maydie and Movique wrung their hands harder, faces pinched in worry.

“The guards, ah, took care of them?” her brother asked.

“Yep.”

“Good.”

“And they took The Gods’ Hands and Damara into custody.”

Movique growled, switching from concerned to annoyed within a breath. “That Lady Damara,” she muttered, smashing her fists into her hips. “The guards said she’s the daughter of Lord Diros, and that she threatened to have him run us out of business for the insult of locking her in one of the street cages. We just don’t have any other place to take them, with the guardhouses not functioning.”

The guards locked them in a street cage? Patch would snicker the rest of the night over that. “It won’t happen,” she promised. “Especially if you stake him first.”

Faelan whapped her arm, unamused, though Jetta grinned widely. The two owners exchanged sly glances, and she regretted the form Fyor would need to slog through in order to properly post their stake. She well imagined the flowery language and not-subtle insults salting the script.

“And you haven’t met our guests yet,” she continued. They perked up and bustled on, and she could not help but wonder if their concern hid their true desire—to meet the khentauree and terrons. Maydie’s exasperated daughter huffed after them, and she suspected their enthusiasm might smack into a wall when she reminded them of their duties.

Faelan rubbed his eyes before offering Jetta his arm. She smiled sweetly at him and took it; the simmery, honey look between them soothed Lapis. Her brother loved someone who loved him back without reservation, and who could salve the emotional wounds he carried close.

She fell in step with them, and they made their way through the crowd to the booth.

Lapis, Patch and Brander clanged their cheap plastic cups together and grinned before gulping the contents.

The gin stung at first, despite being mixed with a green liquid Patch claimed was fruity enough that she would like it. She coughed and sputtered and gagged, but with each sip, it stung less. Faelan teased her on it, but considering he did little better in hiding his coughing after the initial shot, she weathered it. Jetta stuck to small sips, her smile not leaving her face as she bemoaned her love’s intolerance of booze. Rin took one shot, did not react to the burn, and planted himself next to Lyet, perfectly content to sit back and watch their silliness.

Lapis wallowed in silent gratitude that the whirlwind of Maydie and Movique meant she did not have to bring up her lapse, and after Patch and Rin returned, it seemed awkward to mention it. Lucky her. She let the Lells owners hog the attention, fall all over themselves with Kathandra, Ghost and Nathala, and stick their noses into every niche at the booth while she quietly improved her mood with drink. So did Patch, though drowning his fury was a harder-won battle, considering how long it took for the knife-sharp glint to leave his eye.

She suspected Faelan mentioned something to Brander because, while subtle, he kept a close eye on his friend. Between them, they could prevent him from rushing into alcohol-induced stupidity, especially since The Gods’ Hands and his sister sitting in a street cage would prove an easy, but too public, target.

Faelan’s innermost circle gathered around, sharing in the stronger bounty; Caitria, Mairin, Ciaran, Linz, with Sherridan and Eithne joining them. Patch acted the barkeep, though his pouring technique needed improvement. He sloshed the mix over the sides of the cups, making for a sticky hold.

“Ah, to be young again,” Carnival said as he swung the jug of wake juice from his index finger. Jarosa squinted at him.

“You’ve drank enough of that to keep the dead bouncy for a week,” she grumbled.

“I offered, and you declined,” he reminded her.

“I’m not interested in being bouncy for a week.”

“You are quite bouncy on your own.”

A ruby blush spread across her cheeks, and an un-Jarosa-like silence ensued.

“Ah, young love,” Varr declared in an exaggerated sweet tone. Carnival joined Jarosa in a blush while the rest of them laughed gaily. Lapis did not think anyone else could have said that and exited the sentence unscathed, but even the veritiate deathknell thought twice about tangling with him. She recalled him doing the same thing at other social events, behaving the stout and serious bodyguard in the background until someone did something so silly, he had to comment.

She, taken with his pensive presence, stood with him at a couple of her parents’ parties, arms crossed, glaring at the crowds, she a tiny child of four, five, six, him a ginormous, resolute defender. Her mother giggled incessantly when she did so, enchanted with her, who barely topped his knee, attempting to mimic his staunch stance.

He never laughed. He even corrected her posture for better balance. He realized, while she loved lacy dresses and picking berries, she wanted to be more active in things that interested her father and brother. He, as much as anyone, guided her into her current self.

“Cousin!” Kathandra called.

Lapis peeked; the workstation head hugged Imaralis. She consoled herself, that rebels and Minq alike took the revelation as a surprise—except for Midir and Jo Ban, whose interest riveted to the woman with her.

Imaralis wore a saturated pink outfit, the coat a high-collared, humongous-buttoned fashion statement that screamed wealth and privilege. She stuck out like a bright flower against the darker hues of grass, and Lapis wondered how she hid her talks with the rebels, because concealment and secrets did not come naturally to her. The woman with her dressed in subdued grey, with a long, open duster that brushed the ankles of her thigh-high, low-heeled boots. Her blonde-in-a-bottle hair hung in relaxed curls about her shoulders and tangled with the huge turquoise earrings pulling her lobes low. Thick but pretty makeup could not quite hide her age under its shimmer.

Kathandra moved on to hug the woman, shaking her head. “When did you get in, Mom?” she asked, surprise threaded through her words.

“Just now,” she admitted. “I asked Imaralis to wait for me. I’m afraid I’m a little late.” She raised a sculpted brow. “The religious procession outside my hotel was quite the . . . blockade.”

Lapis’s chest froze, and she struggled to shove breath inside. Kathandra’s father was a member of Dentheria’s Second Council, and having Imaralis bring her to the booth with so many rebels and Minq in attendance . . .

Jo Ban chuckled. “I hadn’t realized, Kathandra was your daughter, Maurojay,” he said, without the careful suspicion she suspected he felt.

“She likes to keep the relationship secret,” the woman admitted.

“For good reason,” the scientist grumbled.

“Truthfully, I wished to visit Kathandra and meet the extraordinary beings she works with,” She cast a dazzling smile to the khentauree and the terrons. “But,” and she held up a turquoise-nailed finger, “I have a present for you, Jo Ban. Lord Krios, you might find it of interest as well. I don’t have it on me, but perhaps I can give it to you tomorrow over lunch?”

They all knew each other. Was that a good or bad sign?

“There’s a wondrous restaurant here called the Cottage that has the most delicious Ramiran cake,” Elysia said, all smiles, no trepidation, which Lapis would have anticipated because Midir would be in danger from Second Council intrigue. “And if you invite Lord Adrastos, he’ll pay for it all.”

The group laughed at the older man’s hmphing and grumbling and hand-waving, but he did not say no. Lapis assumed he would have invited himself along, out of deep curiosity. She had not known him long, but she understood that much about him.

“Good! And I’m hoping to avail myself of some exceptional fare tonight. These types of celebrations always have the best food.”

A shift occurred, where the younger lot settled next to the group surrounding Patch and his alcohol dispensing, and the rest made space for Maurojay and laughed and drank wine while chatting up the Ambercaast contingent. Cassa and Dagby joined them, giving her a break from translating.

“Do you know Maurojay?” Faelan asked the scientist as she accepted a cup from Patch.

“I’ve spoken with her in the course of getting the graduate students back to Meergevenis, but I hadn’t met her until tonight. I will say this. Their family isn’t enamored of the wealthy and privileged members of the Lord’s Council, and they aren’t shy about it.”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

Lapis spilled her drink at the blare of Maydie’s voice over the sound system, making a muddy puddle at her feet. Patch’s laughter did not help her embarrassment, and she smacked him on the leg, annoyed, then shoved her cup under his nose for a refill. Brander ended up pouring her more because her partner fell into snickers and could not yank himself back out.

“Thank you for coming to the Lells Fools and Ghouls celebration! We welcome everyone, and are happy to have businesses from around western Jiy providing food and drink and wonderful souvenirs! Don’t forget to grab your free Fool and Ghouls token from one of our Lells booths, found in every square! This is a celebration you don’t want to forget!

“If your child is struggling with all their goodies, the Lells booths also have free bags for their treats! Better to save a candy for later than to drop it and stomp on it instead! The bags come with a fire packet, so you don’t have to worry about buying one for them. Also make certain to visit the large booth near the bonfire while you’re there! Sir Armarandos—I mean, Lord Armarandos—is there with his fiancée, and they just got engaged this afternoon! Stop by and wish them well.” The excitement of the proclamation clearly carried with her words, and the roar of the crowd in response brought a smile to many a face. “You can also talk to him and other ex-guards about the community houses they will run in place of guardhouses. Then talk to the farmers about their plans out Blossom way, and meet our special guests, khentauree and terrons from Ambercaast!”

Mechanical screeching and thumps ensued, and Lapis winced as it continued. “As you know, today is not simply for good fun,” Movique’s voice roared around them, breathless, as if she just won an impromptu tussel. “We’d like to ask you all to join us in humming Omerdewrane’s Oath in honor of those lost at Ruddy’s. Ruddy’s isn’t a Lells business, but the tragedy is a reminder to us all, our extended community matters and we help each other in desperate times. If you haven’t, please visit the memorial on Coin Street, and show your support for western Jiy and all her residents.”

Maydie and Movique hummed off-key, and loud enough Lapis wanted to stick her fingers in her ears, but dutifully joined the masses. Traditionally, people hummed the tune as closure to funerals; no instruments, no words, just feeling. It struck her as something that soldiers might absently hum the night before a battle, hoping to raise dwindling spirits as they readied their gear.

The Seven Gods and the Stars religious hierarchy did not like Omerdewrane’s Oath, and not just because it took its name from an ancient god whose worship the Lord’s Council outlawed. The Ramiran Skulls used it as their theme song, and that link became tacit approval for western Theyndora people to hum it at funerals, rather than sing the boring and uninspired The Star’s Path. The hierarchy believed it undermined their authority, and those they snarled at shrugged and continued to honor the dead in the way they wanted.

A pensive quiet descended, interrupted only by the odd child crying and the rustling of shifting people. Lapis slipped her hand under Patch’s and snuggled close. He refused to participate, but the somberness touched him; he mulled the interior of his cup, eye vacant. She glanced at her brother; he sat, eyes closed, Jetta with her hands clasped around his neck, her head on his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his cheek.

The thrum took Lapis by surprise. Both Nathala and Vali raised their heads, their throats vibrating to the deep rumble. They resonated like a kettledrum, only louder, and their stops and starts mimicked a slow, steady beat.

Ghost, Sanna and Chiddle skimmed the outside of the booth, stepping with grace and poise to the terron rhythm, reminding her of classical dancers trotting onto the stage with their toes pointed. The crowd parted for them, some in fear, most in curiosity, and they took positions around the bonfire.

The khentauree, in unison, raised one knee and bowed, sweeping their arms to the side, then rose. They folded one arm across their chest, held the other up, then lowered them and swung them to the sides, palms up. Their legs moved to the beat, crossing in a pattern, then reared, reaching high, hooves tucked tight against their barrel.

They dropped down as they pivoted, circled, then twirled on one leg. They flowed around the bonfire, as graceful as a puffy white dandelion seed floating on a wind, creating ritualistic patterns with their hands and their hooves. They arched their backs and leaned to the right, their arms trailing behind as they turned, then repeated in the other direction before sweeping their elbows around their heads and prancing.

The terron voices deepened, and the song, and the dancing, became faster. The khentauree flowed from one form to another, pirouetting, jumping, prancing, as if they told a story with their hands and their hooves. No sudden moves, no jerking, just agile positions that glided one into another.

Ghost brightened, gleaming ethereal white like a heavenly being, and his hand-sized sprites appeared, to delighted children’s gasps and the gaping of stunned adults. The shimmery spheres rose and circled the bonfire, whisking along in their own merry dance. They brightened, dimmed, spun into nothing, and reappeared with a bright burst, careened over the crowd and repeated the show before returning to the fire. The terrons thrummed louder, faster, and the khentauree threw their arms up and towards the bonfire.

The blaze roared higher as white, purple and red flared through the flames. The colors shot into the sky and twinkled out, enchanting in their saturation. Blue followed, a mellower color, then a wave of sunset yellows and oranges whisked up, high enough that even those far to the back of the crowd could see the colors curling into the air.

The terrons ended on a loud, upbeat note.

The rats raced in and tossed their packets on the fire, as if answering a predesignated signal. The paper burst with a crackle and the colors streaked after the brighter, khentauree-created ones, to fade into sparks high above the flames. Other children, urged on by parents, leapt to follow, and prickles of happiness rushed through Lapis as younger kids stood next to the far taller mechanical beings and attempted to mimic the moves they just saw performed, no fear in them. Too cute.

“I’m still glad we don’t have one,” Jetta murmured. Faelan laughed and batted her shoulder with his. Lapis heartily agreed with the sentiment, purposefully ignoring the ages of the reading circle. Patch snaked his arm around her, and she raised her head for a warm, luscious kiss, feeling mellow, and better than she had since she began planning for the day.

“Those who’ve avoided the bonfire because of monsters missed an extraordinary performance,” Midir said. Both he and his love smiled as their daughter helped a younger child toss his packet onto the flames after he attempted, and failed, to throw it that far.

Lapis looked back at the terrons. “You’ve performed that together before,” she said.

Nathala rumbled in agreement and Vali signed while Cassa translated.

“She says yes. The mine owners felt threatened by how friendly the khentauree and terrons became after Gedaavik left to tour other mines. They prohibited most interactions, and both sides hated the restrictions. Terrons so inclined snuck into the places the khentauree hid from the owners, and they did many things, like play music and games and read and such. During this time, Ghost set aside a special day for remembering the khentauree who went to silence, and the terrons and a select few human miners joined to remember their loved ones. This holiday falls on the eve of that celebration, so they asked Maydie and Movique if they could dance and sing to honor the ones who went to silence, just as the religious do, during this festival.”

“Interesting,” Jarosa said. “The ancient peoples of western Theydora like the Rams, the Jils and the Albas, had rites on this day and the next, where they not only honored the creator gods Omerdewrane and Chewraineve, but younger generations vowed to uphold their tribal traditions and swear loyalty to their kith and kin, past, present and future, through a blood offering, but I thought the Taangis Empire outlawed all that. Did Ghost decide to follow historical precedent anyway?”

“He did, but not as you think,” Path piped up, nodding enough her hat flopped about. “The mine owners were Taangin, yes, and they told the Jilvaynans that their rites were barbaric witchery, and they could not practice them because the empire said so. The Jilvaynans called in sick and hid in costumes and masks and did holiday things like feeding their ancestors and dancing around bonfires. No one would work on those two days, even when the mine owners threatened to fire them. So the owners gave up and made it a holiday and let people do holiday things. Ghost chose the second day because it was easier to honor those who went to silence when humans were not there to see and hear us.”

The practicality of it struck Lapis as very khentauree.

The three dancers waded through the crowd and aimed for the booth as children continued to throw packets on the flames, shrieking and shouting in joy. Nathala rumbled at them, and Ghost bowed his head.

“It is good to once again dance to terron song,” he said, the buzz beneath his words soft, almost hypnotic.

“Thank you for sharing it,” Lapis said. “It’s a beautiful way to remember those who are gone.”

“We do not mourn like humans. Silence is not feared. It is embraced. We remember, but choose happy memories. So we dance with beauty.”

Happy memories. She glanced at Faelan, who leaned over, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them, and studied his boots.

“Happy memories,” she whispered.

“Anthea would have wanted that,” he said, so quietly she leaned closer to grasp his words. “She looked to the future, always the optimist. I told her once she deluded herself, and she quoted poetry at me, told me I didn’t have a strong enough heart.”

“That’s from Winter’s Hand, right?”

“Yeah. She loved that poem because it ended with the renewing rains of spring while not diminishing winter’s severity as cruel, but natural.”

“She quoted it at Tiege, too. He hated it.”

“Of course he did.”

“She quoted Misstep River at me.”

His eyes shifted over to her. “Why?”

“She told me I was as much a brat as Lorelei and I’d better pray I had the luck she did to get out of the trouble I caused.”

She poked him when he did not stop laughing, which infected Jetta, too. “It’s not funny. I’m nothing like Lorelei.”

“No, you’re worse.”

She gaped, offended. “Who says?”

She did not appreciate all the hands that went up in answer, including Patch’s, including Rin’s, including those who were too far away to hear their conversation like Jarosa, Carnival and Varr. Tapping her foot at them and scowling did not change their vote, either. She imperiously held out her cup to her partner, who poured her another mixed drink, then she raised it above her head.

“To Anthea,” she said. “And to Ghost, for reminding us we can choose happy memories.”

It shocked her, how everyone scrambled to raise their own cup while Ghost buzzed with surprise. Well, since she had their attention . . .

“And to those who love us despite our faults, for without them, we fall.”

Murmured assent, before rebel and Minq and guest alike tipped their drinks back. She realized the terrons grasped what looked like vases, and used them as cups, and while the khentauree did not have a drink, they crossed their hands over their chests and droned.

The exuberant mischief filled the booth, rowdy and unapologetic. Earlier, the interruption would have irritated her, but instead, she embraced the rats’ excitement. Others accompanied them; two younger teens planted themselves at Brander’s side, speaking with him in exaggerated motions and pointing to the khentauree, and a couple of younger kids hugged Dagby before carting themselves over to Granna Cup. Great-grandchildren, she assumed.

The mischief lounged about, ignoring the glare daggers of more proper Jiy residents who still waited to speak with Armarandos and the farmers. Let them grouch; the kids’ fun was more important. They chatted and told stories and badgered any adult willing to listen to them, all but Brone and Nerik, who joined a scattering of players discussing something with Nathala and Vali and the khentauree. Inspired, she assumed.

She filed Nerik’s interest away; a few more books on music, instruments, performances, seemed in order. Might that lure him to the reading circle?

Her brother lifted his cup; she tapped it with hers. Jetta and Patch joined, the rest followed. They elevated them higher in salute, issued a wordless shout in unison, then drank.

Perhaps western Jiy did not participate in the expensive religious ceremony of feeding ancestors that eastern Jiy promoted. Perhaps western Jiy children re-used and passed down costumes year to year, instead of burning them in the bonfire at midnight. Perhaps western Jiy’s second day of celebration focused on tricks and fools and jesters, while the religious complained they made fun of serious rites. But western Jiy, deep in its core, promoted a sense of community and enjoyment the stuffy clods east of the Wrain failed to attain.

The rats held up their hands, fingers squeezing sweets, and copied the adults and their shout. More than one fell over laughing at their absurdity, and Lapis sighed. Her gaze trickled over them, lingered on Rin and Lyet, then her brother, her partner, the rebels, the Minq, the Ambercaast contingent. New friends, old friends, family, chosen family.

Before Faelan returned to her life, she never could have pictured an evening like this one. She assumed her days too barren to have friendly contact with many outside the reading circle, a dull but suitable life for a Grey Streets chaser with her hand in the rebellion. But he brought laughter and promise with him, filled her life with meaning outside vengeance and hate. Reintroduced her to hope.

She was not the only one; Patch remained sequestered in his shell until Faelan showed up. They both owed him much. Did he realize it? Probably not, but she would find a way to thank him.