Empty streets except for the wind, which picked up tiny bits of snow and twirled them across the icy paving stones and dirt. The gusts battered the painted wooden fronts of shadowy buildings, buffeted the awnings, signs and shutters so they creaked, and whistled down alleys. Less than a handful of fruit oil lanterns hanging at business doors had flame, and no one had lit the streetlamps hanging from wooden poles. Darkness bathed the walk to the rebel House, even through the nicer sections of the Grey Streets.
Lapis expected it, but the quiet pummeled her; just coming out of a freeze, the roads should have people ecstatic about finally having a night out when the weather was a tad warmer. But no one visited the vacant businesses, no players entertained, no friends shouted drunkenly to one another after too much fun. Instead, they hid.
Of course they hid. While the fighting had remained east of the river—mostly—people still had friends, family, and work over there. They knew guards barred access to the bridges, and they had gossipy neighbors who paid the fee to see the destruction from the top of the Night Market and wanted to talk about it. They had read the proclamations, wondered what it all meant to have no king, and for a stranger to claim that he had answers. Pondering their unknown future, fear gripped them as they realized life in Jiy might have crashed along with the ‘shroud and leave them struggling to put food in their mouths, let alone keep their shelter.
The suffering had already started. People with scant incomes because of the freeze now endured an extended hardship and needed help. After the brief visit to the Lells Community Center to pick up whatever Meinrad and Rambart left, and realizing how many stood in line for the bags of supplies, worry snagged her and did not let go. Midir, Faelan, and Lord Adrastos planned for Gall’s eventual fall, but had they understood the scope of it?
She was not the only concerned one. After viewing the destruction, Cassa sank into deep silence, which turned to bright-eyed despair after they bid Fyor a good night. Dagby kept his arm around her, as much to comfort her as himself.
“Are you alright?” Lapis asked, forcing her voice above the crunch of their boots.
The scientist pulled her gaze from the icy street and nodded with a half-smiled that did not reach her tearing eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so . . .” She shrugged, a helpless gesture. “Maybe it’s because I’m from Meergevenis, and we don’t have conflicts like this on our soil. I know what a terrible man Gall was, and I’ve dealt with my share of nobles like those he favored, but—”
“It would be hard for anyone to view that and not have it hit,” Patch told her quietly. “Lapis and I were under it, so we know what it was like—”
“You were under it?” Cassa asked, flabbergasted.
“Tuft went down, and we had to pull him to safety,” Lapis said. “The hull scraped cliffs apart, and we had to outrun that.”
Cassa pulled from Dagby, hugged her, hugged her partner, then wiped at her cheeks. “It’s silly,” she whispered. “I know you’re walking with me, but thinking about how terrifying that must have been, I would have froze. I would have died.”
“Not with friends dragging you along,” Patch told her. “And we would have. No one left behind.”
Including Perben.
Lapis shoved the sour thought deep into the pit of ignored emotions. She had no idea what happened to the rebel traitor after they left Lord Adrastos’s mansion, nor did she care. He may have aided them in rescuing Faelan out of a perverse sense of loyalty, but he was part of the reason the palace captured her brother in the first place. His acts from eight years ago paved the way for the arrest, and she would never forgive him for his role in her family’s murder.
“Granna Cup showed up at the Lells, makin’ sure I was alive,” Dagby said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so worried. She said Trixsy called a boss meetin’. Not sure what Underville plans, but I’m bettin’ they’re gonna make an announcement supportin’ Midir.” He laughed. “Granna got to know him, these last few weeks. She’s taken a likin’ to him. She’s taken a likin’ to a lot of people I’d assume she’d hate.”
“I think she’s fonder of the rebels than one might think,” Cassa said. “Kathandra believes her and Lord Adrastos’s sparring is more entertainment and stress relief than actual head-butting. I agree, especially since they’ve agreed on all the important decisions Midir’s made.”
“Granna Cup’s respected in the underground, and her voice carries far,” Patch said. Dagby murmured agreement. “If Trixsy’s on board, she’s an invaluable ally. Her work to get fair pay to Docks workers has made her a celebrity there, and we need those who champion the little guy, to speak in support of Midir. It’s why Faelan spent so much time finding and training rebel leaders who value and champion their local communities. They’re voices people will listen to, not a fat fuck who’s spent his life stiffing workers and then expecting them to take his word as a promise for better conditions.”
“Isn’t that why Midir’s not going to call himself a king?” Cassa asked. “He’s very adamant about it.”
“Yeah,” Lapis said. “He doesn’t want to taint his rule before it even starts, and taking Gall’s title will do that.”
She hoped Jilvayna accepted that, too. Commoners hated the throne, but that did not mean, now that the king was gone, they wouldn’t pine for the perceived stability of a royal leader. Midir was born to it, just like Gall’s heir, and spent his life planning to make Jilvaynan lives better rather than how to fill his coffers with metgal and suck up the last vestiges of aquatheerdaal to power his depleted Dentherion tech.
The plain, wrought iron front gate to the rebel House stood out from the other Wrendle Street mansion entrances, blazing as bright as day compared to the darkness surrounding the others. The street, which housed the wealthiest nobles in Jiy before the Dentherion invasion, now sat as a dim and neglected reminder of the past. Noble families dumped their embarrassments there, to live in buildings of cracked stone, overgrown gardens and leaking roofs. A scant few still proudly held onto their traditional family home, as if waiting for the riches that once graced the area to return—a dream as faded as the landscaping.
The guards opened the reinforced door to the small guardhouse situated between it and the stone wall and let them through. They headed down a shoveled drive, their feet crunching on the frozen gravel, past bare trees that, in the warmer seasons, hid the horseshoe-shaped, whitewashed stone mansion from casual view of the road. The roundabout courtyard with a snow-laden central fountain sat between the north and south wings, and while typically empty, it now had wagons and people rushing in and out of the open front door, most carting crates into the building, some holding papers and directing others. A wide, trampled path led around the south side; from the size, the terrons must have used it to reach the wallows in the back.
“Who owns that?”
Cassa pointed at a carriage pulled to the northern edge, a burly driver in thick wool bent over the reins, two lanterns on long poles hanging from each side and illuminating the ground for the horses. The panels were green, the designs in gold, and the roof had four elaborate points at the corners and a curved middle, the style of personal noble carriages from those living in Green Castle and Harkenberry.
“Maybe a Minq boss?” Lapis suggested.
Patch glared at it, a good indication he knew, and he did not like whoever visited.
They stepped through the bustle and into the chilly, marble-tiled foyer. How strange, to use the proper entrance rather than sneaking in from the sewers, but the rebels no longer had anyone to hide from. It did not matter if neighbors realized someone more than a down-and-out noble lived in the place; what would they do about it?
Several individuals stood at the back of the foyer, some bundled for the weather, snow on their boots, speaking with a group dressed in indoor jackets led by Sherridan. She noted the tenseness and hesitated, then recognized the blonde woman hugging a round, shaking man in an opulent green coat with fur puffing out of the cuffs and hem.
Vivina.
The once-rebel tearfully hugged her father—and who let Baldur into the mansion? His greed and lack of leadership had nearly destroyed the Jiy rebel House, and she resented the ex-headman’s presence in the new bastion. They could have held the reunion at the Eaves or the Night Market, rather than letting him foul the place with his musty Dentherion cologne.
Not that she liked Vivina much, especially after her fear-induced behavior when the palace raided the old House. As far as she was concerned, the woman had shown her true personality during that outing, and she was not someone worthy enough to visit the center of Jilvaynan rebel power.
She twitched. Behind her was Requet, watching with a soft smile.
Emotions crashed through her; hate for a spoiled, rich Dentherion noble, mingled with the acknowledgement that he endangered himself to keep the ‘shroud in the air as long as possible. He even accepted Gall’s invitation to the execution and took his sweet, sweet time ‘getting ready’, which gave her infiltration group the precious minutes they needed to rescue Faelan and flee.
She could not shove the jumbled, unwanted feelings back into the pit of her stomach, to swirl around and drown with the others she refused to face. Squeezing Patch’s hand, she pulled away; now or never.
Vivina looked at her, and surprise spread across her makeup-streaked face. “Lapis!”
Well, she supposed the time for hiding her rebel name had ended with the ‘shroud’s crash, but would it have hurt her to remember to call her Lanth just once? “I see you made it off the ‘shroud.”
Tears fell faster. “It was terrifying. But your uncle landed without a problem and rescued us.”
Her uncle and his Swift would never let a little thing like a ‘shroud going down keep him from rescuing people, no matter how despicable.
Baldur turned, and his expression immediately fell into sour disgust as he viewed her outfit, then her company, with his dark, reddened eyes. Well, he could indulge in snootiness all he wanted; she had ties to Faelan and Midir, and his days of relying on the rebellion and its supporters as cash siphons was over. Good luck to him, worming around all the underground shanks he stiffed as the rebel leader in Jiy.
She swallowed. Dammit, this was hard. “All of you, thank you for keeping the ‘shroud up as long as you did. We were able to rescue Faelan because of it.”
Requet blinked, shocked, and ran his hands over his slicked dark hair before dropping them and tugging at the fluff of lace peeking out from between the wide lapels to his woolen, ankle-length black coat. “You’re welcome.” She caught the hint of panic in his hazel eyes, and with a jolt, realized he had no idea what to say. She hoped he was more forthcoming with his report to the rebels; she doubted Faelan and Midir would have agreed to anything that did not require him to tell them about the goings-on with Danaea, the markweza, Bov Caardinva, and their links to Kez.
The men behind him glanced at him, then her.
“It was part of the agreement,” one told her. “We get to join the workstation guards. Commander Kayleb has a place for us.”
Ah. Black Hat mercs. She doubted any of the Dentherion-tied soldiers had remained on board. “Maybe so, but I was under the impression everyone had a chance to leave beforehand. It was a brave choice, to remain.”
“Some did leave,” he admitted. “They’re in Dentheria now, and no way home. Don’t envy them that.”
Neither did she. “So, thank you again. I’ve got to report, so—”
“So do we,” Vivina declared, perking up.
Really. Lapis looked at Sherridan, who opened his mouth, embarrassed and annoyed, and sighed and ruffled his black bangs. Before he could apologize for the unwanted company, she took herself away; she could not listen to them talk about their recent adventure. Her memories were too fresh.
It did not help, that Cassa and Dagby decided to check on the terrons, as eager to be away from the group as she was. Patch grasped her hand, though why he leaked amusement, she could not say. He should be furious that Baldur, Vivina and Requet stood in the rebel House, comfy and protected while rebel fighters risked themselves to bring about a new day without Dentherion overlords.
She would report, get re-bandaged, and find her bed. Maybe the morning would grant her a better viewpoint.
They kept to the less busy halls to avoid people rushing back and forth, some with healing supplies, most with correspondence from the front lines, and reached the suite Brander and Sherridan converted into a reporting room long before the larger group arrived. Over a dozen people already sat inside, scribbling on paper attached to clipboards; mostly Minq, but a few rebels as well.
Weapons leaned against the walls, and the fighters looked ready to collapse. The second floor had a large entertainment room now filled with bedding, pillows, and quiet, and she hoped they could doze a bit before returning to the front lines.
“Faelan?” Lapis asked the rebel who manned the desk. Mina was a guard for the Blue Council who got assigned to oversee the info collection, and while not providing heads for her to bash, she accepted the important charge.
“Not back yet,” she said. “But we have comms that his group intercepted a Beryl retreat.” She smiled in sympathy. “He’s trained for this moment. Your father started him on the path, and Varr made certain he continued to tread it.” She handed her a clipboard with a pen stuck in the clip, a chain wrapped around the rounded top to keep it attached. “And I don’t envy him the amount of paperwork he’ll need to fill out when he returns.”
Patch took the second one. “Lanth needs to see the healers. We’ll get these to you after.”
Mina nodded. “Caitria’s using the first-floor entertainment den as a makeshift clinic for those with less dire injuries. The Meint are manning it, and they’re efficient.”
Efficient, and scoldy. Lapis sat through the gentle reminder that she had a serious injury and needed rest while the nurse changed her bandages, clucked at the leakage, and gave her more painkiller. She badgered Patch into sitting for her probes as well, ignoring his annoyance when she mentioned his aunt and her displeasure if he did not take care of himself.
Disconcerted, depressed, and fighting the pain that screamed down her arm and across her chest, Lapis leaned against the hallway wall and finished her report before handing her clipboard to Patch. “I want to check on Tuft.”
He nodded and accepted it. “I’ll come down after I drop these off, then we can get some rest.”
Dark and silent; the rest of the mansion bustled, but the tech room with Tuft and the disassembled khentauree only had hallway light filtering into it. Or maybe she should call it the khentauree room; Jhor thought moving the incident-centric items to a central location would prevent accidental harm to the recovered heads, and give Tuft a chance to fix whatever needed fixing without bodies rushing in and out and disturbing him.
Ghost had nodded, but she had the impression the Ambercaast khentauree hid something about Tuft and his condition. She could not say why, especially since his centuries-long lack of human association, coupled with old and recent memories of terrible treatment by mine owners and the markweza’s scientists, could explain his odd wording and behavior. Those interactions flavored how he treated humans, though his thoughtfulness and care around the street rats proved he did not see all of them as evil.
She padded to the table now resting against the far wall. Tuft lay on his side, his head and human torso propped up on pillows, his horse-like legs curled into his chassis barrel. The blanket draped over him had slid, exposing his shoulder. Lapis repositioned it and tucking it beneath him so it did not fall. She felt odd in doing so—the silvery metal did not experience temperature like her skin—but Sanna insisted. And if Sanna insisted, she would keep that blanket on him until he woke.
She slipped her hand over his; the chill tickled her fingers through the fuzzy barrier. “Hey, Tuft, I thought I’d come and tell you those loyal to the throne and Kez are in retreat,” she whispered to him.
Her stray hope crashed as he did not move his head to stare at her with his mannequin eyes, nor did wisps of ice create flowing hair and a tail. No earrings formed, either; only the hoops she had given him sparkled in the faint light. Too bad, but expecting him to awaken to her words, when he had not acknowledged Ghost or Sanna, was silly.
“Between the rebels, the Minq and the Rams, the Beryl found out a syndicate of assassins may be stealthy, but they aren’t as strong of fighters as they assumed.” She sucked in a quivery sigh. “They were talking this morning about invading their headquarters. It’s probably trapped, so those they send have to wear tech armor, marching shirts, and the terrons are going with them. Not just Mint and Tia, either. Nathala sent fighters to help because she thinks Midir is the best chance her people have of surviving the end of the empire unscathed.”
More people rushed loudly by, on their way to the comms room. While all carried important information that needed to reach Midir, she hated how few of the couriers she knew. Distrust rose, and they did not deserve her doubt. Glancing back at Tuft’s hand, she forced her whirling thoughts to simmer.
“I hope you get better quickly. You did so much for us, and it’s not fair, you got hurt.” She pressed her thumb and finger into her eyelids, hard, to stop the tears. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry I wasn’t the best fighter. If I had been, you might not have been knocked out.”
Best fighter. Ha. She was not a fighter at all. She was a chaser who could take out a guttershank and defend herself, but to clash in a pitched tech battle? That was beyond her skill.
Beep beep.
Tuft? Hope leaping, she leaned closer to the khentauree.
Beep beep.
She moved her ear from his head down his torso.
Beep beep.
No, the sound did not come from him. Frowning, she squeezed his hand and slid hers away before stilling.
Beep beep.
A faint flash of burnt cyan came from one of the dozen khentauree heads lined up on a worktable, clamped in place by wooden vices, wires running from the open panels at the back of their heads to a computer Jhor used. Several had faint signals the modder could detect, but their jumbled words and static had yet to give them any good information about how they ended up in shank hands. Some had remained quiet, despite his best attempts to activate them.
She stood on tiptoe and peered over the line; she did not want a khentauree to shoot at her because she was a stranger. The flash steadied, and the base of the neck and forehead glowed in the eighth one.
She winced; cyan lit the forehead where the mechanical beings formed tech beam attacks. What should she do?
She waited, but did not hear Jhor or a khentauree, so they were not monitoring the heads’ activity. With all that had happened in the last three days, not a surprise. Noting again which one activated, she took a step—and cyan flared in the center of its forehead, and the beeping grew louder and faster.
“Lanth?”
She looked at the door as a weak beam streaked across the room and struck the opposite wall. Smoke puffed from it, and Patch swore as he swiveled out of the doorway. She crouched down as lights raced down the sides of the khentauree’s head.
“Get Sanna!” her partner yelled. “Tell her something’s wrong with the khentauree in the tech room.”
Angry buzzing erupted from the head, and the khentauree decorated the wall with strike after strike. Crates of supplies sat in the next room, and Lapis wondered how much explosive material rested in them. What if the beams broke through and hit something that should not be hit?
“Lanth?” Patch called.
“I’m fine!”
The beeping increased in intensity and formed a pattern; a distress call? Or something else?
“MEKOT.”
Lapis flinched at the fierce authority in Ghost’s command. The buzzing halted, though the beeping did not. The khentauree entered the room slowly, taking exaggerated, deliberate steps, his sparkling sprites dancing around him, ready to intercept another strike. He set a blazing tech lantern on the empty table between him and the head with a heavy thunk. The head’s forehead returned to a cyan glow.
“MEKOT.”
The light died. Crackling ensued, heavy and dark.
Chiddle entered, a bright cyan ring shimmering over his eyes, holding a metal pipe he must have snagged from Jhor. They did not trust the head—and the head did not trust them. If she were in a similar situation and returned to consciousness as only a head in a dark room with some human stranger talking, she would not have the best reaction, either.
Sanna trotted into the room and held out her hand. “Come. It is not safe for you here.”
She rose and took it, and the khentauree walked between her and the head, humming a low warning. Would all of them awaken in a like manner? If so, they needed to find a more secure location for them to rest.
Chiddle raised his front leg and tapped his hoof on the floor, agitated.
“What about Ghost and Chiddle?” Lapis whispered.
“They will speak with her,” Sanna said. “She will not harm them. She is but a head held on a stand. Her attacks are limited. That does not mean she will not further damage the wall.” She pushed her out of the room first, then exited and closed the door with a soft click.
“What happened?”
Lapis looked at Midir, who stood just down the hall from the comms room, intent on their small group. Had he even slept since Faelan was captured? His scruffy stubble and bleary eyes hinted he had not rested that day, and she suspected his body would insist on sleep, sooner rather than later. No Varr; the bodyguard must be asleep, since two others guarded him, tech in hand. More spanned their backs, courier bags strapped across their chests, observing her with grim curiosity.
“I was checking on Tuft, and I heard a soft beeping. I thought it was him at first, but it grew louder, and I realized it came from a head.” She tapped at the correct spot on her forehead. “The head attacked the opposite wall. There was smoke, but no fire.”
“She is afraid,” Sanna said. “She is alone in a foreign place among foreign humans and khentauree, and reacts with fear.” The khentauree buzzed, her tone lowering. “She was ripped from her still- functioning chassis. It is not surprising that horror sinks into her and rends her processes. Ghost will calm her, but it is not safe for humans to be in a room alone with her right now.” Her head swiveled to Jhor, who listened, arms crossed, a divot between his eyebrows.
“Do you think the activity triggered a defense mechanism?” he asked. “If so, the others might react as well. We’ll need to move them.”
“Ghost will ask.” Sanna folded her hands across her lower torso. “No. She hears another of her etak. They call for help, but she cannot go to them.”
Patch pushed from the wall, the lights spinning around the edges of his patch slowing. “Do you know where?”
Midir slipped an arm around Lapis while Sanna swiveled her head to peer through the door’s window.
“You’re alright?” he whispered, his rough edge, laced with concern, pricking relief and guilt that she worried him.
She hugged him back. “I’m fine. It was just unexpected.” She squeezed. “When are you going to get some sleep? I’ve seen bodies in the Pit who’ve looked better.”
His smile held the weight of the world. “When Jo Ban gets up, I’ll take a nap. It’s not that we’ve had many decisions to make, but enough, one of us needs to be at the comms.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “What’s an etak?”
“A group of khentauree guards of the same model and make,” Sanna replied. “Etak means sibling, and they take their relationship very seriously. The signal comes from north Greencastle. Jhor, we must go.”
“Not alone, you’re not.” Patch tapped his chest. “I know the area, and you don’t. I can get around the fighting.”
“There are unknowns with green tech along the Avranda, too,” Midir said. “They got into it with the Beryl, so no friends there. They’re wearing mottled grey uniforms to blend into the environment. No others, from mercs to the Beryl, are dressed in similar gear. The Jils are having a hard time keeping track of them with the birds.”
Wondrous.
“I need some wake juice, and we can go,” Patch said.
“Me, too.” Lapis pulled away from Midir.
“Lanth—” He sighed as she seared a hole in his head; if he stayed up all hours and days, he had no right to caution her. If a khentauree was in trouble, it was best for her to help rescue them. She and Patch were free and knew what to expect.
“Path will come, and we will ask a terron to join us,” Sanna said. “We shall be fierce and frantic, and we will save the etak. We will show her we have swift compassion, and she will stop attacking the wall.”
Lapis hoped they could borrow horses to keep up; she and Patch were human, after all, and their shorter, meaty legs would not keep up with the swifter mechanical beings.
“Be cautious,” Midir said. “And if things go wrong, call for help.”
“We will,” Patch promised. She smiled at the worried man and trotted after her partner. With Sanna, Path and a terron coming along, their enemies would run rather than fight.
