Lapis settled the rats’ gift among the other knicks and knacks, flowers, and candles that marked the memorial for the massacre. So many had visited, and more to come, filling the tech-shredded walls of Ruddy’s with items that might not sell for much individually but would net the owner a decent payday to rebuild. Not that the place would change from the dive of dives bar, but walls to keep the elements at bay mattered.
How many had died? If the guard had an official number, they kept it to themselves—or, more likely, the Dentherions had ordered silence on the matter. A typical response throughout the empire, to protect the Lords’ and Second Councils from blowback and keep fury impotent through ignorance.
She rose and eyed the two containers next to Ruddy; one manned by him, one by a melancholy woman in a nondescript, ragged blue dress with red eyes and a runny nose.
Ruddy certainly had seen better days as well. Sunken cheeks with grey stubble, sunken eyes, brown irises swimming in bloody whites, and his lower lip trembled. How much of his cheap shit had he drank, to make his existence seem livable?
Patch dug into his pocket and withdrew a money pouch attached by a chain to his belt loop—not that many dared pick him, but he preferred caution. He made no show of it but dropped ten silvers into each container. Both the owner and the woman stared, open-mouthed, at the generosity.
“You don’t hafta do that,” the woman said, choking on tears.
“No,” he agreed.
“Him ‘n his partner ‘n his friend, they’s the reason we gots out.” One of the down-and-out men leaning against Ruddy’s wall lifted his chin at them. “Led lotsa us down into them sewers. Showed us out, past them Minq.”
The woman wiped at her cheeks. “M’brother made it, ‘cause o’ you,” she whispered. “Said he followed a woman and some rats past the Minq. Too many I knows, they didn’t.”
“Them community centers,” Ruddy’s owner said, gruffness covering his emotions. Lapis never liked him, and she doubted that would change, but she acknowledged this meant something to him, as much as to the survivors. “How’re they’s helpin’ with things like this?” He motioned to the wreckage of a wall that the raiders ravaged with tech weapons for cruelty’s sake. “They just gonna watch, like the guard did?”
“Don’t know, you’d need to ask Armarandos and Fyor,” Patch said. “But I’m under the impression they’re going to take over most of the guard duties because there aren’t any guards left to do them, and since they aren’t beholden to the throne, there’s no reason for them to play nice with palace officials or Dentherion reps.”
“Within reason,” Lapis said quietly. “Armarandos already said he will not provide personal patrols for the rich outcasts in the mansions. That leaves more hands to help in disasters.”
“Not that them guard did much t’ begin with,” another woman said as she rose from the memorial, resentful. “Armaramdos did the same things his predecessor did, ‘bout bein’ the private force fer the wrecks here in the Grey Streets. Never minded ‘bout them lyin’ in the gutters needin’ help.”
“He worked in the chains of official guardship,” Patch agreed. “And did some questionable shit. But I’ve dealt with my share of guards, so don’t heap all their shady deals on him. Those in the guardhouses didn’t necessarily agree with his approach and did their best to undermine his authority. He did more for the Grey and Stone Streets than you think, including sending some of the more vicious guttershanks to the magisters for mine duty despite the backing of syndicates.”
“You don’t seem like a guard-lovin’ type,” the woman said, her gaze lingering on his patch.
“I’m not. But I also got paid by them. I worked in the system, as much as I hated it—and so did Armarandos.”
Ruddy’s eyes narrowed as a chill coursed up Lapis’s back. Patch looked beyond her, and his rage, hid by a nonchalant façade but for the glitter in his eye, set her on edge.
“Heard ‘bout them raidin’ the Eaves,” Ruddy said, his throaty growl hate-filled.
Wishing she had not left her improved gauntlet in her room, but confident it did not matter, Lapis stepped to Patch’s side before glaring at The Gods’ Hands and his buddies. His sneer of loathing directed at her did not translate to his six friends; their uncertain distress, focused on Patch, satisfied her. They would hesitate to confront him, even if the man who led them leapt into a fight—which she doubted because the awkward sling and cast on the arm Mairin broke did not lend well to hand-to-hand, a liability if he planned to attack a far more successful chaser.
He wore Dentherion-made merchant-stock tunic and pants, too, items far out of his reach because his chase completion rate was so low. Who paid him so well he could purchase the nicer stuff? The Minq?
His hand strayed to his side, where the hip material bulged lumpily out, and a collective hiss escaped the worried watchers’ lips.
“Now now.” An arm slipped down Lapis’s shoulder, and Jetta cocked her head against hers. She must have just gotten back from her errand—just in time to join the confrontation. “This is a festive night with a somber memorial. Wouldn’t want to ruin that vibe, would we?” She smiled and The Gods’ Hands took a step back. Did she intimidate the lackluster shank? Good.
Or maybe the number of rebels and Midir’s personal guard flanking her had more to do with it, with no-nonsense Varr towering over them all, his glare demonic. It astonished her, how many she personally knew among the thirty-odd people behind her. Brander, Tearlach and his love, Linz, her uncle Rodas, Eithne and Sherridan, Ciaran and Lady Ailis, along with Wrethe and Fawn and Jerin.
When had her solitary existence overflowed with so many people? Her mind spun, at the thought of conversing with them all that night. What was she going to say to them? She had enough idle chitchat for one, maybe two, but a dozen or so? Would one of them become upset if she spent more time with another? Her mother and father loved to throw well-attended parties, sometimes with hundreds of guests. They greeted them with twinkles and gratitude and light laughs, and she always pondered how they remembered all their names. Had they ever screwed up, and called someone the wrong one? She could not picture her elegant mother, gracious and flattering, reddening in embarrassment because she misidentified a couple.
Keril and Klyo stood to the side; so much had happened, that she had yet to speak with him about Klyo and the nasty accident she triggered that made her sister Anthea return to Nicodem to change her dress before meeting him for a picnic—just in time for the palace-sponsored attack. She died under soldier blades, along with everyone else at the estate that terrible day. The watery-eyed, unhappy stare the woman gave her meant she understood Lapis’s intent. Whatever the woman had done to attempt a pre-smoothing over of her actions, it would fail. She had bitter truth on her side and a well of deep, unmitigated anger that needed an outlet.
Patch pulled out a rectangular box from his pants pocket and clicked the button. The object unfolded, the curved bow part pulling free, tightening the string, the sight flipping up, the trigger sliding down from its housing in the shell, the quiver pushing out from the side. “Between Lanth, me and Jetta, this’ll be an easy stake,” he said, his voice carrying over the dead-silent crowd as he popped finger-length bolts from the quiver, pointed tips gleaming. Everyone believed his sincerity, for the jackass and his buddies whipped about on their heels and fled.
Wonderful. She had another future confrontation to look forward to, and likely in a place where The Gods’ Hands thought he could take her out without interference.
“You take anything from this memorial, you bully anyone, and I’ll come back for you,” Patch yelled after him, slipping the bolts back and raising the weapon up as it refolded. He shoved it into his pocket as Jetta sighed with exaggerated disappointment that the conflict ended so soon.
Midir raised an eyebrow at Lapis, and she patted Jetta’s hand before pulling away and joining him at the back of the crowd, his love Elysia on his arm, Neassa, his assistant, in close attendance and watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes.
“We’re stopping by to pay tribute,” he told her with soft sorrow. She smiled, forcing her anxiety into the pit of her stomach, and motioned to Ruddy and the woman next to him. Both regarded the fleeing shanks with apprehension, though she doubted the chaser would return that night. Patch did not make idle threats, and the fool knew it.
“Then you’ll wish to donate to their funds,” she said. “And make a large donation in Armarandos’s name, too, because he just got engaged.”
All the rebels did a double take on that one, and those congregating around the memorial gasped.
“To Kalliope?” Elysia asked, confused.
“She got down on her knee and asked him to be her husband, in front of the crowd at the booth.”
The women listening thought that a grand display of love; the men, perhaps not so much, though the rebels enjoyed the short tale.
“Really?” the woman grumpy about the guard asked, her eyebrows wrinkled in a deep frown.
“We watched the whole thing,” Patch said, chuckling. “I’m not certain who was more surprised, Armarandos or the rest of us.”
“Lord Adrastos just squealed in happiness,” Lapis said.
Elysia laughed, a delightful sound. “Oh, I’m sure he did, because that means he might get grandchildren sometime in the future.”
Midir shook his head as he gave money to the two funds, then held up several silver. “To toast the bride and groom,” he told Ruddy. The man smiled and accepted the coins, though not with the greed Lapis expected. The group around the bar cheered their good luck, while the rebels slipped their own donations into the jars and placed sweet santhems with the other fragrant flowers. Midir and Elysia used the time to speak with several of the people, asking after loved ones and listening to the harrowing tales of the survivors.
“So who was that?” Jetta asked, nudging her as the large group finally drifted from the memorial, contemplative and sober. The question knocked her from her own memories of that day, which focused on her terror of death by Dentherion weapons, Lars and his buddies’ stupidity in getting caught up in tech smuggling, the traitorous stable hand from Nicodem who survived the slaughter through betrayal . . .
“The Gods’ Hands,” she replied—and laughed and the disgust. “Yes, that’s his chosen chaser name. Yes, it’s stupid. He’s not good enough to live up to such a moniker.”
“He should be dead,” Patch growled.
“Should be, but isn’t,” Lapis said. “Because the Minq something something. Faelan wasn’t very forthright about it.”
“Hmm.” Jetta narrowed her eyes, and a tinge of regret for the stern lecture her brother would receive filtered through her.
“We set up near the bonfire,” Lapis said. “Not only is Armarandos there, but farmer representatives, to tell the Grey and Stone Streets that the new market is going to be out Blossom way.”
Brander frowned. “Why?”
“Yedin said he and his grand-da just met with a palace rep. They’re claiming farmers are causing problems and therefore the throne must charge them more for selling—conveniently obliterating any profits they might make. So they’re moving out of the city, and the Minq will have some sort of in-between runs where they deliver purchased goods. I’m not certain how it’s all going to work, but I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”
Sherridan nodded. “They’ve been talking about that for a few weeks in the undermarket,” he said. “The farmers aren’t the only businesses the throne is demanding more money from. Smithies and crafters of all sorts, like furniture makers and seamstresses and potters, are looking to move to Blossom. They want to keep a low profile in the undermarket so they don’t have to meet the new taxes being levied. And it’s not lost on them, that the excises are only being forced on businesses on the west side of the river.”
“Surprised you had time to go, considering all the other work you’re doing.” Lapis patted his arm, disturbed by the revelation. How would that affect the rats selling at the Lells?
“I’ve dragged him away,” Eithne admitted. “He needs a break, too.”
“Yeah, there’s been a lot of late nights, but me, Linz, Wrethe and Path have progressed through Danaea’s documents, and decoded a few more we’ve gotten from Ambercaast and through other means. Some weird shit is going on.”
“FUN TONIGHT,” Eithne firmly stated.
“Yeah, don’t just leave the good time to the kids.” Lapis looked at Fawn and Jerin. “Once Jarosa and Carnival paint your faces, the rats can take you to the booths to get treats.”
Fawn’s excitement ricocheted around her, and she looked up at her grand-da, jumpy, while Jerin’s squint-eyed skepticism prompted Lapis’s reassuring smile.
“Don’t miss out on having a real Ramiran Skull paint a half-skull on your face,” Patch said. “That’s something the rats can brag about, and the kids with costumes can’t compete with.”
“I’m not a rat,” Jerin immediately insisted.
“Tonight you are,” Lapis reminded him.
Linz giggled. “There’s only one person I’m going to scare,” they declared. Whom did they plan to horrify, in their bright white and yellow sunflower sundress, yellow denim half-jacket, floppy white hat with matching yellow scarf? Running about in sandals and light colors did not make for a clean getaway.
The Eaves appeared even more crowded, with the customers spilling out into the sidewalk and road beyond, talking loud enough to give the Lells horde pause. Dachs beamed about—until he saw Linz. Then his mouth pulled down into a crying, exaggerated frown, and he held up his hands and turned away, pained—to their gales of laughter.
They hopped up to him and grabbed his arm. “Boo!“ they crowed.
An in-joke, because Jetta laughed, too. The chaser nudged her waist. “Dachs is allergic to sunflowers,” she intimated. “And Linz always needles him about it.”
“Dress would be pretty, without those death blossoms on it,” he grumbled.
“'Tis the night to scare one and all,” they reminded him with a magnificent flourish of their arm. “And since normal means never scare you, this will.”
He shuddered for effect.
Patch leaned closer to the barkeep. “The Gods’ Hands is around,” he said. Dachs frowned, his fake revulsion receding.
“I thought he’d met the Pit,” he said, voice lowering to a concerned growl.
“Apparently the Minq wanted him whole, and Faelan went along with it. He tried to confront us. We humiliated him, so if he decides to regain some pride, he might nose about here.”
“I offered a few regs some silver to keep anyone from the stairs. They’ll come and get me, if there’s trouble.” He cracked his knuckles, and Lapis did not doubt, the errant chaser would wish he already resided in the Pit, once the barkeep got done with him.
“Do you want me to stick around?” Linz asked. Dachs laughed and waved his hand.
“Nah, you need to experience this Fools and Ghouls,” he told her. “I’d do it, but the crowds are far more than what I anticipated. Dalia, Dani and I are busy as can be.” To emphasize the point, he poured several more drinks for the impatient people waiting. “Have fun, and think of poor me at least once.”
The Lells crowd had grown. Lapis looked about in despair; did she want to chance the press of bodies, or hide at the booth until everyone left?
“Daddy! Mama!”
Iole tore through the bodies and rammed into her parents, her joyful laughter ringing about them. Jerin eyed her butterfly and remained skeptical—until the mischief descended on them. The half-skulls intrigued him, though Fawn contemplated them and decided she wanted a brighter paint job, like a purple cat. By the jealous looks, a couple of the rats wished they had thought of a purple cat—Lapis needed to be ready for that, come next year.
“The booth is packed,” Scand said, shaking his head in exaggerated wonder. “They roped off the seating. People from the other districts are pissy, we rats get to sit and they don’t.”
“They’re welcome to set up their own booth,” she reminded him. Watching snobby asses blanch at Maydie and Movique’s price would put her in better humor. “Where’s Tovi and Lahna?” Had something happened?
“With ever’un else,” Rin said. “They’s hungry, so Cassa got ‘m some of them chips ‘n fish. She even bought fer us, but we said we’d be back after we’d found you.” His eyes drifted to the necklace, and she smiled, touching the gem.
“Patch just gave this to me.”
“Aww,” Lyet said with sugary happiness. “So sweet! I guess it’s your lucky day.”
Did her love translate through the blissful peek at her partner? He smacked a kiss on her head, and his pleasure warmed her.
A small, palm-sized, neatly wrapped gift appeared under her nose.
Frowning, she leaned back and looked at Rin, who, along with the rest of the mischief, grinned in eager anticipation. She cautiously accepted it from his palm and nervously inspected the black packaging. What shocking surprise did they plan for her? Would she live down the embarrassment if it scared her?
Probably not, considering their snickers. She pictured Scand gloating far into the future over their cleverness.
Since the kids refused to give hints, she steeled herself and pulled at the ribbon, then popped the top.
Inside rested a bracelet, identical to the silver one Faelan had given her, but with several more berry and leaf charms spread around, on a bed of thin black velvet.
“Since you always wear the one your brother gave you, we thought you’d wear this, too,” Lyet said. Lapis picked it up and held it, swallowing hard.
“You should spend what you have on yourselves,” she whispered.
“Lady, there wouldn’t be ourselves without you,” the teen pointed out. “No reading circle, no way out, no hope.”
“’N somma us ‘r here ‘cause you cared ‘nough t’ get us through the roughs,” Rin said, his voice thrumming low. “We’s makin’ ‘nough now, t’ do it. Maybe when the snows hit we’d be short, but then you’d just pay fer some soup ‘n bread, like you always do, takin’ care even when you don’t gots none yerself.”
“Even when you’re not there, you’re there for us,” Gabby said. “You and Rin.”
Tears wet the velvet, a sorry state to leave their precious gift in.
Oddly, not one laughed. Instead they circled her and wrapped their arms around her and held tight, proving that her efforts had not fallen through the myriad of holes that littered the Grey Streets roads, to lay in a sad heap in the sewers, ready to sweep into the river during the next vicious storm. Her endeavors to place stepping stones along their path, however exhilarating and frustrating, kept the mud from sucking at their heels, desperate to pull them down into the hate, the despair, and swallow them.
Her head sank against Rin’s shoulder; he slipped his arm around the back of her head and squeezed, his cheery laughter rumbling in her ear.
Holding them away from her, attempting dispassion, had not worked, had it? Was this how Jarosa, how Carnival, felt? Her brother? Why they continued with the Wolf Collaborate, why they pushed their people so hard but made certain to counter those missions with concern and care?
She assured every urchin who surrounded her, squeezing their shoulders, hugging them, hoping they realized her watery appreciation held more than meager tears. The puffed-up chests and wide smiles meant her reading circle did; Rin, Brone, Gabby, Lyet, Phialla, Ness, Scand, the ones most closely associated with her. But happiness radiated from Jandra, Lykas, Nerik, Jess and the Wings; how many unofficial reading circle rats pitched in? Did she deserve a gift that might well keep them hungry on a day or two come the snows?
She slipped the bracelet over her wrist, matching the one Faelan gave her. However second-hand, the present tied them to her family, her brother, the rebellion. Did they realize? Even if they did, she doubted any cared. They had a different view of rebels than typical Grey and Stone Streets residents because of personal association. Hopefully the non-existent gods saw fit to keep them from joining; she wanted a future for them and not one blighted by the soul-crushing darkness the rebellion offered.
“Look Varr!” Iole called, breaking the group hug apart by reminding them others waited for them. The girl stood in front of the bodyguard and held up one of the commemorative bags the Lells owners gave to the kids using both hands, the seams threatening to burst from the sweets packed inside. “I have so many treats I’m going to be sick for a week!”
“You are not eating them all at once,” her mother sternly scolded as Varr narrowed one eye, dubious of her excited claim. The seven-year-old’s crafty smirk hinted at grand naughtiness if her parents did not keep a close eye on her. Of course, the rats knew all about getting sick off treats, as it had become a yearly tradition with them.
“Ask the rats about that,” Lapis said, rubbing at her cheeks as their intimate group broke apart. “It will give you a whole new perspective on stuffing yourself with sweets.”
“At least I won’t have to clean it up, SCAND,” Lyet said.
“Why are you picking on me?” he asked, outraged, gifting her a nasty snarl.
“You puked pink. Who does that?”
“Pink?” Patch asked, amused. She held up a hand; that was a story for another time when she did not have so many other things to think about, worry about, ponder about.
Lapis searched for Faelan as they reached the over-crowded booth; the urge to show him her gifts, as well as the want for his comfort, roared strong. Falling into the youthful tradition calmed her, even if time, disaster and sorrow stood between them. She had thought the heartbreak too important over the last eight years, but to know he tried to reach her after the palace raid, that his failure cracked his soul as it shattered hers, gave them another bond, one strong enough to defy the fractures.
She edged past Jarosa and Carnival, who still painted faces, though the children who sat before them did not come from the streets, but the poorer sections of the Stone Streets. Did they have enough materials? Extra bottles sat below the table, so someone must have retrieved more from the Meint. Probably Jarosa, because who in their right mind would deny their veritiate deathknell paint?
At least Patch, belatedly, remembered to purchase the Shaloar rebel wake juice. Jetta magnanimously offered to keep him company in the long, long line so Lapis could lead the others to the booth. Nice of her, though she suspected the ready offer meant the rebel planned to speak with him on something chaser-y.
The new arrivals hailed those already at the booth and swarmed to find seating, while jealous onlookers glared at their noise and good cheer. Shara bounded to Neassa and hugged her, and Jo Ban swamped them both in an embrace. Midir and family greeted Jarosa and Carnival, congratulated Lord Adrastos and Lady Nerine on the engagement of their son, then introduced themselves to the Ambercaast contingent. The rest of the rebels and guards found seats and positions around the poles to the tarp, laughing and chit-chatting with those nearest them.
She appreciated, that few stared at the khentauree and the terrons, but rather engaged them in conversation. The crowd waiting to speak with Armarandos did not share that nicety, and the ugly, agitated suspicion, the trembling fear, irritated her. If they truly paid attention, they would not see frightening beings, but thoughtful ones having intelligent exchanges about many topics. Of course, Lapis had the benefit of experiencing true monstrosity, all at the sadistic hands of throne-backed humans. The scariest khentauree at Ambercaast could not compete with that vile malevolence.
Her brother sat alone in the back, leaning against the wall and contemplating the rambunctious group with one arm folded, his elbow settled on his forearm while he rested an index finger against his cheek. She plunked down next to him, and he looked at her, eyebrows raised. She tapped her new bracelet and leaned over.
“Did you know the rats bought this for me?” she asked.
He shook his head and smoothed the bangle. “It matches the one I gave you.”
She showed him the ornaments in the box, and he chuckled, amused they, too, purchased berries. “They said they wanted me to wear their gift in the same way I wear yours.”
“They wished to give you something special.”
“They should have saved their money.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Perhaps. But sometimes, a thoughtful act means more.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. I can’t fault them for realizing something special about them, even if they don’t know the special meaning for us. Did they give you the necklace, too?”
“No. Patch did.”
“So the gem’s real.”
“Yep.”
“I knew, a long time ago, that Patch loved his partner.” He half-grinned at the rats’ loud acceptance of the meal Cassa bought for them, gulping down the food without much chewing, which attracted the sniffy attention of the quite-presumptuous people waiting their turn for an audience. “He’s never free with his feelings, and prefers an indifferent mask to hide them, but he never kept the warmth from his voice when he spoke of you. That necklace is as official as any jewelry to declare your relationship.”
Lapis leaned closer. “He said, if we lived in a different time, a different fate, perhaps we could have met in a different way, and he could have wooed me instead of us mourning what should have been.”
“He wants a world for you of light and happiness and joy. It’s what the rebels aspire to, even if it seems out of reach and impossible. He joined the rebellion because of that and stays because of you.”
“I want to make him happy.”
“You do. He’s been shy about it, but there is no one else that brightens his outlook. Here.” He unhooked the simple chain about his neck. Lapis had not thought much about his current presentation, though she noted his style choices as a child. Many of his peers had donned sumptuous materials with artistic patterns, tailored to perfection, most of shiny Dentherion make, while he preferred a subdued, dark wardrobe that met expectations but did not shriek ‘wealth’. Untucked shirt, comfortable pants, boots . . . That, too, had not changed in the eight years between Nicodem’s fall and now.
He snagged a charm and slid the tiny hoop through a link. Together they placed all of them, then he hooked the chain around her neck; she could wear them without worrying she would lose or damage them during a chase.
“Thank you,” she whispered, burying her head in his shoulder as she touched the chain, her fingers trailing over the small silver adornments. He hugged her back, a small smile playing on his lips.
“The kids felt strongly enough to purchase these for you,” he replied, the tinge of melancholy confusing her. “You’ve created a family, whether you meant to or not. Their attachment to each other and to you is obvious, even though you all try to hide it under a tough street sheen.” He bowed his head as his words trickled into a subdued rumble. “Chosen family can be as meaningful as birth ones, sometimes even more robust and loving because you’ve decided these people represent what you want in close kinship ties.”
“You have that in the rebellion, don’t you?”
“Yes, and beyond Uncle Rodas. My inner circle is my family, and of course, Jarosa and Carnival, some others. The strength of our bonds is sacrosanct and powerful, more so because we wanted them. And you have it with the rats, especially Rin.”
“We had a talk before things got interesting at Ambercaast. He said the other rats claim it’s obvious, that we have a special connection, that he’s more of a younger brother than just a friend.”
“They’re right.”
“That would make him your younger brother by proxy.”
He laughed. “By proxy, eh? Well, I’ve done worse.”
“Tiege wasn’t that bad.”
“You don’t know half of what he did.” His sarcasm pricked her, and she straightened, curious but confused. “Both of you had that want for adventure, but his turned mean much of the time. I don’t know why. When he was little-little, his sweetness and curiosity were endearing. But after you were born, it soured. Sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t jealous of the attention you received.”
“Jealous?” Lapis attempted to wrap the description around her experiences with her deceased sibling and could not make them connect. They got into all sorts of mischief together . . .
But.
She recalled him releasing the dogs on Keril as he fled Anthea’s room at dawn. She recalled his teasing of Airbelle and how she would shit on him if she saw him. Other acts flitted through her mind, focusing on the ones he committed, then blamed on her when he got caught. “I never saw it that way when I was younger. He was just being an annoying brother.”
“His behavior never bothered me until an offhanded remark from Tearlach after a confrontation made me think about the harm he caused. I don’t think he realized it himself, until I pointed it out. He didn’t appreciate it.” He sucked in a cleansing breath. “We’d gotten into a fight about it. That’s why I wasn’t at Nicodem for the raid—Dad sent me on rebel errands to clear my head.”
Her mind stumbled and fuzzed into numb darkness. He had? How . . . why . . . The booth shrank, black haze drifting around the edges of her sight. People passed in front of her; Neassa and Shara and Jo Ban regaining seats; Rin bapping Scand on the head for some remark; Tovi trying out Brone’s drum; Fawn and Jerin sitting for face paint.
Without Tiege being nasty, Faelan might have died, too. She would have spent eternity mourning him, rather than eight years hating him before reconciliation.
“Rin is nothing like Tiege. His heart is as wide as his grin.”
She struggled to snag her attention back to the present. She slipped her arms about him and squeezed; he hugged her, his guilty regret for bringing up the past unable to soothe her distress.
“I’m sorry about the last eight years,” she whispered. “I knew better.”
“And I’m sorry for mentioning it, tonight of all nights.”
“It’s on your mind.” She pulled back as Patch sank next to her, curious and pensive. Jetta wrapped her arms around Faelan’s waist, worried. Her brother just shook his head, and she attempted levity to combat the concern.
“I told him Rin’s his brother by proxy.”
They accepted the untruthful explanation for the morosity, though she anticipated questions the next day. Rin perked up and looked over at them.
“Did I hear you takin’ m’ name in vain?” he asked.
“You’re Faelan’s little brother by proxy.”
The rats cheered as he flared a shade as red as his hair. Tovi signed something and Patch chuckled, then kissed her.
