“Are you certain? Because once the Minq leave, they’re stuck there with you until you finish the mission.”
“I’m sure.” Lapis’s grip tightened on the edge of the table as she leaned over and spoke into the round speaker in the center of the square metal device. A bad idea? Yes. But having specific translators for the terrons in Ragehill outweighed the negative. And, perhaps, instead of seeing adventure, sitting next to the two lizards and translating would give them a better sense of rebel missions and ‘keeper activities—and how boring it all was.
She still did not want them in the field. Brander pointed out that they experienced danger by living on the streets, but other rats and guttershanks were not military personnel from another continent who were driven by power hunger.
Her nails dug deeper into the metal surface. She doubted Rin, who survived the trauma of shank kidnapping, would accept the distinction as a valid argument.
“I’ll talk to the reading circle,” Faelan said. “If they knew, I’ll remind them they need better judgment in the future.”
She smiled, even if her brother could not see it. He told her the same thing in her childhood, and while he was correct, that did not make the reprimands easier to sit through. The time she snuck a favored mare from the stable and took a midnight ride because she could not sleep popped into mind. The full moon lit the field, the grass a glowing cyan under the touch, and she loved the cool wind kissing her face as the horse gently trotted back and forth.
A black shadow had appeared at the fence, startling her mount, and she landed in the dirt after the horse reared and fled. At least the shadow belonged to Faelan, and not her parents. He did not let her forget her naughty escapade, either, despite feeling guilty about her fall.
“There’s one other thing,” Lapis said.
Crackles erupted from the speaker. “What happened?” His wariness pricked her hurt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?” His confusion trailed off, and static reigned for another three breaths. “The portrait.”
“Yeah.”
“I remembered to tell you before you left, but you weren’t around, and then things got busy and it slipped my mind.” He sighed, a depressed flutter of breath. “I’m sorry, Lanth.”
“Caitria said Mom loved it.”
“She did. Lorcan said she saw rebellion in Revallene, someone who, because of conservative convention, could not choose her own path. So she undermined the system while working within it. I read a bit more about Abastion royalty, and Revallene linking herself to the Wandering Petals was a defiant act that would have sent her relations into a furious fit. I sometimes wonder if she struggled with the fallout or did not care.”
Their mother knew defiant; she threw her parents’ refusal to accept her marriage to Alaric back in their faces. Her family lost Rodas to the pull of rebellion as well, and they never stopped blaming her for the unfixable break. Lapis overheard her parents speaking about her aunt’s children, a group of people she never met, but who did not share the seething hatred of improper relatives, and how that further split goodwill between her kin.
Furious static pops, and Caitria grabbed the speaker from Lapis. “Faelan, the connection’s getting bad again.”
“I’m happy you got through,” he said. “The wind changes direction and everything goes to the Pit.”
“True enough.” She leaned closer. “One more thing. Jhor wants Cassa to upload the second khentauree cleansing code to Sugar Sugar. I’m not really clear on what that is, but it might be a workstation thing. He says he can access it from here.”
“I’ll tell her.” His voice faded under static, and only a few syllables fizzed through before a gushing noise replaced it.
She sighed and flipped the metal switch pointing up from the top of the device. “Well, at least you got to speak to him.”
“Thanks, Caitria.”
The rebel patted her back with a cheerful grin. “Of course. He needed to know about the delays and Rin and Scand, sooner rather than later.” She tapped the sleek surface of the tech. “We have coded signals, and sometimes I wonder if that’s not what’s interfering with the connections. But, with the storm raging, I suppose interference is a given.”
“Your father said the drifts are up to his calves already!”
“It’s dumping a lot of snow,” she agreed. “I’m not certain that whoever’s at the mine understands the weather conditions here. They might not be ready for a snow-in.”
Lapis had not experienced a snow-in since her childhood. Nicodem, a remote estate, often sat in a blanket of sparkling white while her parents, her older siblings, and several of the servants shoveled the walks and main drive. She offered to help, but her stamina did not equal the breadth of the task, and she spent more time in the kitchen drinking a hot tea and warming up than slinging the white stuff over the growing embankments.
Winter in Jiy, while cold and stormy, never dumped the amounts of snow found in the communities around Coriy.
“Every so often, someone decides to try to open the mine,” Caitria continued. “They’re rarely prepared for winter weather. We’ve had our farmers threatened and livestock raided when the people get hungry and desperate.”
“I don’t have the impression from the khentauree that the invaders are ready for adverse conditions,” Lapis said. “The showed up late in the season, and probably don’t have the supplies they need to survive.”
“Yeah. And if you get in trouble up here, there isn’t a convenient place to run to.” She glanced at the wall clock, of a shiny, minimal design, where a bright bar moved past numbers on the square face, left side for dawn to dusk, right for dusk to dawn. “The debriefing should be breaking for lunch.”
Lapis rose and followed Caitria out of the comms room and to the commons next door. She wanted to speak with Faelan rather than sit through a boring expose on what Ragehill knew about the Shivers and its unwanted guests, and what Chiddle had gleaned from the khentauree before they clammed up and refused to converse further.
Once Luthier fully regained herself, Sanna believed the others would relax and behave more freely. But they seemed to have a stronger connection to the small khentauree than either she or Chiddle had to Ghost, and that affected their bearing.
Lapis wondered if Gedaavik modded Luthier before or after Ghost.
Caitria glanced at the terron’s bedding and smiled. “Think Rin and Scand are having a good time?”
Forcing them to sit through the briefing, where they had to pay attention and translate any questions Mint and Tia had, amused her. With Caitria’s help, she pulled Lorcan aside, and he reassured her that what he had to say about the mine was not secret, or particularly interesting. The boys would be fine, if bored.
“No.”
They both laughed.
Lapis squeaked as arms slid around her, and a cold nose nuzzled her ear. “Lorcan said he’s reserved tables at The Flying Cup.”
Caitria pursed her lips, happily surprised. “That’s a spendy place,” she admitted. “But it has fantastic seafood from Saydgeland and Ceystoria.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had food specifically from those two countries,” Lapis said.
“Their seafood is wondrous! When you get further into the interior, meals becomes standard Dentherion-influenced fare, with a hunk of meat served with grains and veggies. But the seaside communities have a grand tradition of spicy fish and seafood flavored with mellow fruits.” Caitria’s smile simmered into satisfied amusement. “Now that I’ve eaten at the Night Market, I have a different perspective on some of those dishes.”
Since Lapis had paid little attention to the tour after viewing the painting, she forced herself to study the habited areas of Ragehill as they passed by on a krav, heading for the restaurant.
The streets were wide corridors with buildings along the lengths of them, just like with any other city or town, with one exception; either five-story high roofs or rocky cave ceilings covered the entire place. The jumble of living quarters mingling with businesses in Coriy and Jiy did not materialize here; specific lasvicir within the vicinir had specific designations, and they did not seem to mix. No apartments over ground floor shops, no row of shacks stuffed into an alleyway just large enough for inhabitants to squeeze through to reach the front door, no messy drug hollows or hidden street rat cubbies.
The cleanliness shocked her. No random debris or garbage in the corners or shoved into business walls, and the allies looked pristine. No smell of sour waste permeated the air, so someone must clean the communal restrooms as well. Store owners in a few places swept the sidewalk outside their establishment, while others ran a cloth over the glass windows until they shone.
The eatery lasvicir on the second level, housed within the cavernous Shopping Vicine, only contained restaurants, even on the upper floors. Most had colorful awnings and signs that reminded Lapis of the Lells stalls, the rest had wooden exteriors stained a dark brown, with somber trim and intimate lighting. The signposts listing street names looked out of place, with white-painted carved letters on dull brown plaques.
The krav driver halted at a four-story building, one narrower than those next to it, with a winding exterior iron staircase that led to the top. Deep umber exterior paint, meant to bring a sophisticated air to the establishment, flaked in places, letting a glossy green peek through. Wide windows on every floor allowed light from the giant ceiling lanterns to illuminate the interior. A black sign with bright yellow, swirling lettering hung over the open entrance door, and while Lapis could not read the Alban words, she assumed it said The Flying Cup.
Instead of using the door, Caitria guided them to an archway at the side of the building, one large enough terrons could pass through without scraping against the edges. The short, cement walkway led to a round dining area with grass covering the floor, flower beds holding colorful blooms circling it, and trees in giant pots scattered throughout.
Lapis thought the foliage was fake, but the fresh scent wafting from them proved the plants were happily living their lives underground, under tech lights.
The terrons rested between two of the trees, eating from bowls piled high with rice, blackened fish and vegetables. From the smell of it, the blackened fish came that way courtesy of a healthy dose of pepper, not char from the grill.
Jhor, the khentauree and the rats sat on the ground next to them, while the others inhabited backless benches positioned along two long tables, laughing at something Lorcan said. White tablecloths protected the wooden surfaces from the riveted metal tubs filled with blue and red-stained rice, fish, shellfish and vegetables. Orange, red and black sauces and chunky fruit compote in pourable silver containers stood among half-drunk glasses of wine. Bread baskets stuffed with heavy, dark-grained slices and fat rolls dripping with butter took up space between the wine bottles.
Caitria motioned to a small table holding dishes, glasses and silverware, so Lapis snagged a bowl. She shoveled the rice from the nearest tub into it, squished it down, heaped curl tails swimming in an orange sauce onto it, and coated them with vegetables. She only half-heartedly glared as Caitria poured extra orange sauce over all of it, snagged a fork and toggled a glass of chilled water, then glanced at her apprentices.
“Interrogation time?” Patch asked as he slathered his fish with an inky condiment that smelled like spicy berries.
“It’s a training exercise, after all.”
He chuckled, smacked a kiss to her head, and found a seat near Brander. Caitria beamed brighter and nudged her shoulder. “It is lunch,” she reminded her before skipping over to her parent.
From the wary, one-eyed, suspicious squints she got from the rats, they wanted her to remember that, too. She sank next to Rin and Scand and smiled.
“Since I was busy with other things, why don’t you tell me about the briefing.”
Scand blinked and Rin licked his lips, which, by the bright red color, burned from the spice he added to his meal. “Like what?” the older rat asked.
“Like who gave the briefing and what were they wearing?”
They both made a grand show of groaning.
