Fog laced her sight, a soft, golden haze. The smell of berries in baskets wafted to her and childish laughter patted her ears. The heated breeze swirled her skirts around her legs and played with her hair, sending the strands into her best friend, who arched away and swatted at them with good-natured annoyance. A buzzy insect dipped towards them, and Neola shrieked and ducked, hiding behind her until the bobbing black-and-yellow bug flew away.

Endre excitedly shouted. Lapis stared down the dirt road, at the horse, at the curly-haired man in the saddle. She opened her mouth to scream a warning as her little brother raced to him, waving.

No no no no not again!

Her face smashed against something smooth, warm, and she sucked in a breath that shook hard enough, she gasped and tried to fill her lungs again.

“She’s fine, Rin.”

Patch. Yes. She recognized his voice, the clean scent of expensive, flower-infused soap he used at the baths.

The baths. Red water ran over the lip, a common sight for the chaser pools, but she never thought she would be the cause. Never thought she would need to rinse splatter off her skin, out of her hair. She burned her clothes because she could not bear to wear them again; her partner tossed his coat into the fire because he knew it would trigger memories long after that night.

He had no attachment to it, he told her. Guilt still dragged her into its whirlpool embrace. She did not rise from it until they reached the Eaves to check on the Dentherions they left in the commons room; Dachs stood at the counter, reading the note Patch had given Dani, and demanded an explanation—then he focused on her. His outrage fell into gentleness, and he quietly said they could talk about it later.

He guessed. He must have.

A hand settled on her shoulder, and she turned to peek up with one eye. Tears ran over the bridge of her nose and wet her cheek before dripping away. “Y’ need somethin’, Lapis? Tea, maybe?”

Lapis. Had Rin just called her Lapis? She blinked at him, then nodded into Patch’s chest.

“Where’s Lykas?” Pain shot through her throat at the words. How much had she screamed, to make it so sore?

“At the rebel House,” Rin said, matter-of-fact enough the rat’s injuries must not be too bad. “He’s snugged up tight with Jandra. Lady Thais was there, lookin’ after them three fugitives, but seen him first.” He snorted. “Kinda hard, thinkin’ Lady Maurojay’s a fugitive. Elegant lady like that?” He shook his head.

“Faelan’s coming to care for things,” Patch said as he kissed her forehead. “He might be there by now.”

“I need to check on Lykas.”

“OK. Rin, we’ll need to use your room.”

“Aye. Not a problem. I’ll gets some tea, first.”

She pulled away from Patch, then shivered as the blanket fell away and the chill of the room crossed her shoulders. Her partner kept her warm enough she slept in a thin-strapped top—but now she wished she had donned her thick, long-sleeved gown.

Rin padded out—and she realized he wore his sleepwear of oversized shirt and baggy, soft pants. What time was it? She looked at the window, but the grey peeking through the curtains told her nothing.

Her thoughts hazed, and she stared at her wardrobe doors until Patch gently prodded her into putting on warm clothes. The ethereal sense she was someone else watching the actions of another plagued her as he helped her into her coat, opened the door for her, and locked it tight.

What was wrong with her? She had . . . only Dentherions. Only Dentherions, and they wanted to kill Lykas. She protected Lykas the only way she could.

Laughter roared from downstairs; Patch sighed, settled a hand in the center of her back, and urged her down the hallway to Rin’s room. The rat had both the entry and the secret door open, and by his warm attire, was ready and waiting to accompany them to the House. Lyet stood next to him, wrapped in a warm coat and speaking in low tones.

“Lady.” Relief filled that single word, and the teen smiled at her. “I’m going to get some more of that winter tea, so Dalia has some to make for you. I think it’ll help.”

Runny tears coursed down her cheeks. “Lyet, you don’t—”

Lyet shook her head and hugged her. “Yes, I do,” she whispered. “You saved Lykas and Scand. You saved someone else from getting snagged by those assholes and maybe killed. You put yourself in danger for us. Getting tea is the least we can do to thank you.”

Lapis hugged her back. No rats but Lykas sat in her mind when she triggered her gauntlets and spun. She wanted to save him. That was it. And she succeeded, in a bloody hunter fashion.

Rin handed her a mug of steaming tea. She folded her hands over the hot ceramic and sipped, hoping to swallow her gorge along with the liquid. Nothing so bitter, as agonizing regret. She concentrated on the steam and the heat, willing her tears to remain behind her eyelids but failing.

The hidden stairs became a blurry mess, and she hoped she did not fall.

The Eaves’ basement was a series of brown stone rooms that held barrels of wine and kegs of beer, with food stuffed into a pantry and the few things needing cold sitting in the ice room. It ran the length of the building above, though half the space was unused. The last room contained a panel in the back wall that opened another secret door. The revealed staircase ended in a rebel-patrolled tunnel.

Fruit oil lamps attached to the pitted, cracked grey walls flickered merrily away, lighting the grooved cement flooring to a smaller, offshoot tunnel. Two guards she did not recognize manned the grated way that led to the new House basement, both sitting on crates to either side, smoking and chatting. They nodded and waved them through, and Patch rumbled something at them, but she did not catch his words. She clutched her empty cup to her chest and followed Rin and Lyet, eyes plastered to the dusty, cold brown tiles.

Brown tiles. Were they new? No breaks or cracks, and the grout had not darkened in time. They passed another two guards leaning against the wall next to a metal door; they murmured something she did not comprehend, so ignored them. The stairs at the end of the walkway had bright lamps illuminating the well. Memory flashed of her using her gauntlets to light the steps in the theater, and she squeezed her eyes, attempting but unable to blot out the image.

Heat pattered her face, and she ran the back of her hand over her chilled nose, relieved. The previous House remained cold during End Year and Final Year months, with Baldur proclaiming it too costly to purchase wood. He, of course, always had a comfy office and plenty of fuel to keep the fire going, while everyone else wrapped up in layers of clothing and blankets and huddled together in search of elusive warmth.

Voices rose and fell, some soothing, some stressed. Patch hugged her to his side, and she looked up. They walked down a darkened hallway in the western wing of the house; the rebels had replaced the wallpaper with fashionable knotted vines on a dark blue background, but otherwise, the passage held no décor. A yellow glow seeped from the room at the end; she recognized the garden-side parlor, one meant to entertain important guests. Faelan stood just outside the doorway, still dressed in a duster and snowy boots, listening to someone speaking in soft, urgent tones. He nodded and looked towards them; his eyebrows knit, his eyes wrinkled in sympathy.

“Lanth.”

She walked into his arms and squeezed tight. Her older brother, the one who rocked her to sleep as a child when she cried after doing something that landed her on the sharp side of her mother’s temper. His embrace felt as strong, as warm, as she remembered. It held a promise of protection, and she needed that now.

“You came to see Lykas?” he whispered. She nodded. “We set him up on the second floor. Come on. I’ll go with you.”

She pulled away as Ciaran leaned against the doorjamb, his focus on her.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” he told her as more tears ran down her cheeks. He smiled with sad empathy, and she reached for his hand. She had failed him, too, those long years ago. She had watched his sister die and done nothing to stop it. Yes, soldiers chased her too, but she should have . . . could have . . .

He cupped her hand between his and drew her into a quick but firm embrace. She snuffled and squeezed tight before slipping away and accepting a handkerchief from her brother. Misery welled, and she buried her face in the white square, a pathetic attempt to hide anguish and regret.

Faelan led their group to the second-floor staircase, silent but for her sniffling. No one said a word until they reached the landing, then Patch hmphed, unimpressed.

“They look like they’re out for a park stroll,” he growled.

“It got them out of Dentheria,” Faelan said. “And it’s all they have. They left behind everything else to get here.”

“Why? I—”

“Do you want to know? You’re going to get pissed.”

“Any more than I already am?”

“They came here because he’s not their grandson.”

“And?”

“He’s Raidyth, Makethryn’s heir.”

Lapis looked into the empty cup’s bottom as Patch said things that would make the hardest hunter blush. Raidyth. She had heard that name before, but where? It did not matter. Resentment strangled her—if they had not fled to Jiy, she would not have—

No. No. Her grip tightened on the cup. Anyone fleeing from the empire needed help, no matter who, no matter their station. Damn Dentheria and its new High Councilor.

Faelan whacked Patch’s arm, annoyed, and he quieted to a loud grumble. “I don’t want to hear it. Maurojay thought we were the closest, safest place. She’s right.”

“No wonder they have janks all over the fucking city.”

“Their pursuers lost them in Coriy. They assumed their targets hit Wickster and then took a boat up to Jiy, but they didn’t know.”

“You captured the group coming to meet up with the ones Lanth took out?”

“All the ones that didn’t become lizard food. They think cooperation’s in their best interest, since the Minq are very persuasive when they want to be. I don’t think tossing them in the Pit is—”

Lapis whimpered, and Faelan stopped. Patch kissed her head, and she sensed his anger drifting away because she needed sympathy and care from him, not fury at Maurojay, her husband, and the heir. Ex-heir.

How fickle, for those janks to serve the High Councilor, and as soon as she died, to switch allegiances to the one who orchestrated her assassination. Yes, Dentherions in service to the empire were the enemy, not only to puppet states but to their own people. But even they had families they left behind. Maybe spouses, maybe kids, maybe mothers and fathers who would stare at the skies and wonder what became of their children. Missed anniversaries, missed birthdays, missed holidays, missed joy and laughter—

Faelan knocked and opened a door towards the end of the hallway. A yellow fruit oil glow filtered into the darker passage. She peeked inside; Lykas lay on the bed, swathed in green patchwork quilts and propped up by pillows, gauze peeking from beneath the short sleeves of a too-large shirt. More gauze circled his head, which held a wide, folded sheet over his left eye. Jandra sat in a high-backed chair on the other side, holding his hand. The nightstand near her held the lamp and an empty glass.

“Lady!” Scand popped up from a comfy chair next to the window and hopped to her, excited and relieved. “Look, look! Lady Thais patched Lykas up. She said he’s stuck here until his rib heals—”

“His rib?” she whispered.

“—but otherwise he’s fine!”

She nodded, and looked at the injured rat, then at Jandra. “You’re alright?”

Jandra nodded, and Lykas smiled sleepily. “Lady Thais said they fractured a rib, but she wrapped me up and said she’ll stay until I’m healed,” he said. “Gave me some really nasty stuff to drink, too. It lets me breathe deep and not feel the pain as much.”

She raised a hand to her left eye.

“That’s just a cut and bruise,” Jandra said, though her voice quivered. “Lady Thais said it looks nastier than it is. His eye will puff up, but he won’t lose his sight or anything.”

A resurgence of tears poured down her cheeks as she walked to the bed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get there sooner.”

“No, Lady.” He reached for her hand and she set the teacup down to take it. “They laughed about killing me and said no one would miss street filth. You got there when it counted, before they really hurt me.”

“They broke a rib!”

“And blacked my eye, and bruised my arms up. I’m lucky they didn’t do more. They really thought I knew where their stake was. I don’t know why.”

It could have ended worse. She could have hesitated too long, and he might have joined Miki in the Pit.

“They were desperate,” Faelan said. “They lost their quarries and had no idea how to find them again. Their new boss isn’t the kind, compassionate person Makethryn pretended to be, and they believe he’ll execute them for failure.” He half-laughed. “After the Minq get through with them, they might see that as a boon.”

“Good,” Jandra said, her eyes heated glints of bronze.

Lykas squeezed Lapis’s fingers. “I knew you’d come. I knew Jandra and Lyet would get you and Patch. You’d never leave me to Dentherions.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Thank you, Lady.”

“Don’t thank me, Lykas. It never would have happened, if you didn’t know me.”

“I owe you a favor.”

“No.”

“So do I,” Jandra said. “You and Scand.”

Scand huffed, blowing his bangs from his eyes with an exasperated breath. “I told you, that wasn’t me,” he muttered. Lapis looked at him, frowning at his blurry image.

“What wasn’t you?”

“That chunk of stuff that hit the guy? That wasn’t me! Someone else was there with us.”

“Not a ghost.” Brittle rage descended, that Scand denied his role.

“I don’t know who it was,” he said, his voice quivering enough in fear to knock her away from her anger. “They stood up from behind one of the larger rubble piles near the left wall, enough in the shadows that I couldn’t see their face or their clothes. They had a chunk in their hand and threw it. I was surprised it hit, considering how far away they were.” His tone lowered. “The rebels said they didn’t find anyone else inside. But I know what I saw.”

She was not in the mood to argue with him. Lykas squeezed her hand, drawing her attention away from the stubborn rat. “I still owe you a favor.”

“You’ll need to get better first.” She covered his fingers with her own, then withdrew. “Which means you’ll need to rest. You look like you’re fighting sleep.”

“I am, but I knew you’d come check on me, too. I didn’t want to be asleep for that.”

She smiled, relief rushing through her. Lykas was safe, healing, and under the care of Lady Thais. He would be fine. “I’ll visit again. Get some rest. You need to sleep to heal.”

He sank back, his eyes drooping. Jandra fussed with the covers, then rose, tears replacing anger. “We won’t forget, Lady.”

“You should get some sleep, too. Worry can wear one out.”

She wiped her cheeks. “It can.” Lyet rounded the bed and hugged her, and they stood together for a moment, in silence, in communion. Lapis turned to Scand. She could not read his expression, but she did not have the strength to reprimand him. She had not seen who threw the debris, she just assumed the rat had. If a shank fled a chaser and hid in the theater, and the Dentherions marched in, looking for someone, and she showed up saying she was on a chase, he might have gotten scared enough to create a distraction for his escape. It worked, if so.

“You’re a good apprentice, Scand.”

His surprise amused her. “I didn’t do much.”

“You did plenty. You need some sleep, too.”

He scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah, but I keep getting a funny feeling when I’m alone. Faelan said I could use a room, but I . . .”

Lapis thought Rin might tease, but he did not. “Y’ll be alright?”

“He can stay here,” Jandra said. “We aren’t going anywhere, and there’s plenty of space.”

“We’ll see what I can do about getting cots or something.” Faelan glanced around. “And warm bedding. Don’t forget what Lady Thais asked. If Lykas awakes in pain, go get her. Those drinks might be nasty, but they’ll help him heal faster.”

“Thank you,” Jandra whispered. “All of you.”

Scand nodded in agreement and sagged in relief.