The Stars must have decided they had not punished her enough for her disregard of their cherished luck. Not three, but five janks sat in the Eaves, stiff, uneasy, as the customers chatted and did their best to ignore them. She could not turn around and walk back out—that would cause suspicion—so walked to the bar and hunched down so she appeared small, cold, and pathetic.

A jank hopped off his stool, focused on her.

“Sweetie!”

She glanced over; Gerrit? He swiveled on his barstool and smiled at her, a hot cup of tea between his hands. He looked like a chap who trotted in looking for warmth, and bought a drink so the barkeep would not throw him out into the street before he was ready to wander on. She slipped to him, kissed his cheek, and settled on the vacant seat next to him. A blush ran beneath his green eyes, and despite the situation, she chuckled, amused.

Most rebels she had worked with before she reunited with her brother thought she possessed lackluster skills and dull looks. They questioned Patch’s interest in her, and wondered why he did not avail himself of a better-looking, better-placed woman. They never imagined someone as she could bring roses to a man’s cheeks.

“Whatcha need?” Dachs leaned over the counter with as fake a pleasant smile as she had ever seen cross his visage. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Warm tea for a weary soul,” she said quietly. She settled her head on Gerrit’s shoulder and hoped the play kept the janks from bothering her. A crowded Eaves was not the place to face them. He slipped his arm around her and settled his cheek against her hair.

Dachs lowered his head, using them as a shield, his nose wrinkling as if he smelled something foul. “Spineless shanks, might as well wait for the Pit.”

She supposed that was true. “I’m short on time.”

“I’ll get you a take-home.” He straightened and wiped his hands on the towel he carried. “Packed tea and house special,” he called. Dalia made a muffled reply as Dani peeked out, noted her, and nodded. Another customer raised their glass, and Dachs set about refilling their drink, chatting with a light tone. Did that make the customers feel less threatened? The weight of five pairs of eyes on her back made her skin prickle, and she fought the urge to shove her hand under her coat and scratch.

“How long have you been here?” she asked Gerrit, refusing to move her head from his shoulder.

“Little while. Headed back to the House?”

“Yeah.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“Yeah.” If the janks got rowdy, her knife would not provide the defense she needed. She vowed not to leave her room without her gauntlets again, whether to visit the city or sit downstairs with the rats. She would rather sit with them and think bad thoughts than not wear them and end up in the Pit.

Thoughts concerning knives rolled around, and she wondered if Jhor could attach throwing dagger sheaths to them, like her chaser pair had. Not that she used the tiny weapons all that often, but the additions would make her feel better prepared.

Two more customers stomped into the tavern, loudly complaining about the weather, took one look at the janks, and pressed up against her and Gerrit’s backs to order a packed meal. How many had stopped by for lunch, noted them, and ordered food to take with them rather than stay in jank company? Since the Dentherions had not spoken to her, she guessed they thought she met with a lover and did the same thing.

Good. Demure, uninspiring she was not worth the trouble.

Waiting for the food put her further on edge—she needed to get to the House faster!—and Gerrit must have caught some of her agitation, because he hugged her closer as a comfort. When the meal arrived and she paid, he slid his teacup away and snagged the cheap cloth bag, a thoughtful gesture. They made pleasant chit-chat goodbyes with Dachs and left without incident. She tugged on his arm and walked with him around the right-hand corner, slow enough not to attract attention.

She half expected Dentherions to be leaning against the large water tank attached to the kitchen, cold and annoyed, but they only encountered three shanks sharing a handmade smoking stick. The smoke smelled like musty leaves and dirt, the scent of a common weed called speckle. The western city clinics grew it and ground the leaves for use as a mild painkiller, but the down-on-their-luck smoked it to drive emotional sorrow away. It was pleasant enough addicts added it to some of the rougher drugs to blunt the kick.

And regular shanks? They passed a stick around when bored.

A flash on the hand caught her attention as one gave the stick to his friend. His coat possessed bell sleeves, an odd fashion choice for a Jiy native, but necessary to give the gauntlet on his right arm space—a gauntlet that looked too much like the lightning ones she encountered before leaving for Ragehill.

She leaned into Gerrit and they gave the men a wide berth. The three laughed, hard and malicious, and one flicked the stick at them; it missed, landing to their side in an ice-coated puddle. They picked up the pace as if intimidated, though Lapis wanted to slap their smugness away.

“He had one of those electric gauntlets,” Gerrit whispered as they headed to Coin Street. They needed to take a different route than Rin’s room to reach the tunnels, and the nearest was a Minq tunnel. Hopefully he had the bits for a toll.

“Yeah, which I bet means they’re working with the janks.”

“Sounds right. I think you’ll be safer at the House right now, with the janks downstairs at the Eaves and guttershanks outside.”

“Yeah, Shawe told me they think Patch is the one who offed their buddies, and since I’m his partner, they’re looking for me, too.”

“Janks are supposed to be the empire’s best.”

“Do they look like the best to you?” Even if, at one point, they had that distinction, she had the suspicion Celem got rid of anyone competent enough to challenge his rule. 

He wrapped his scarf around his nose and mouth and fiddled with the fit. “It’s strange. I always thought janks skulked around at night, hiding in shadows before they jumped their target. That’s not what I’m seeing here.”

“The ones I’ve faced weren’t as professional as I expected. Good for me, if bad for them.”

He hmphed. “Has anyone told you about the new Minq safehouse?”

“No.”

“I’ll show you. It’s a faster route to the House. They bought the old Stonecrest Apartments and turned them into a Grey Streets headquarters. Jo Ban wanted something nearer the House, and that was the closest vacant property.”

Faelan must trust Jo Ban more than she thought. A crisp wind picked up, and they bent their heads against the flurry of snow pounding them. When the gust settled, flakes drifted down to the icy paving stones. A storm? Just the excuse they needed to get indoors and away from any prying eyes.

By the time they reached the safehouse, scattered snowflakes spun through the freezing gusts and landed on the ground. She gratefully entered the warm building and let Gerrit say hi to the bored guards playing cards. They knew each other, and the rebel warned them of the janks and shanks before leading her to the basement and into the tunnels.

The exit and the passage glowed a honey yellow from the fruit oil lamps, and gratitude for the light enveloped her. How odd that she, who never thought to enter them in her previous Jiy life, now used them on a regular basis. She felt more and more shank-like, and did not know what to think of that.

Hopefully the janks kept away from the tunnels. She did not want to worm around a battle between them, the Minq, the rebels, and whatever other underground entity happened to take offense at their presence.

Lucky enough, Brander was at the doorway to the basement talking to Ciaran in a subdued tone when they clambered up. Lapis cast them both a quick smile.

“Janks are hassling Shawe,” she said. “And it’s not looking good for the shanks.”

Brander sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “All right.”

“And Shawe told me they think Patch’s the one who took out their buddies, so they’re hunting for both of us.”

Both took a deep, cleansing sigh, looked at each other, and the thief buttoned up his black leather coat. “I’ll get a few rebels together,” he said.

“I think they tried to follow me from the smithy, but I lost them. There’s five at the Eaves, and they’re more patrolling the Lells, which is weird because almost everyone else is inside today. And there’s more.”

Ciaran nodded, fingers drumming on his hips. “Lapis, why don’t you tell Faelan? He’s in the comms room. He needs to know so he can get a message to Patch. Gerrit, report.” He motioned to the man, who handed her the meal.

She shook her head. “If you’re hungry, you can have it. Dalia’s a good cook.”

He raised an eyebrow, then grinned and accepted. “That would be fantastic.”

She smiled, patted his arm, and headed back downstairs.

All felt empty. Neither the khentauree nor Jhor were in the tech room, and she did not see a guard. Faelan’s voice drifted from the comms, muffled by the closed door but recognizable. She stuck her hands under her arms, wishing the lower level was as warm as the upper, and set her ear to the chilly wood panel.

Requet’s whiny tenor rose high, and she did her best to withhold a snarl; what did he want?

“We’re down to a crawl,” he said, and while he tried to cover it with fake aplomb, she heard the underlying fear. “We’ve pulled all the aquatheerdaal from the weapons and the other three compartments and put it in the jethouses. With everything but them and the comms dark, we have enough to reach Jiy if we keep to low hover. But that’s it.”

“How far into Jiy?” Faelan asked.

“The calculations say maybe to the Avranda River, but that depends on how much wind interference we get. And we won’t have operable weapons.”

“If this works, we won’t need the weapons. Hold your course and wait for the workstation to contact you.”

After several breaths of silence, she timidly raised her hand to knock.

Faelan opened the door before she had a chance and smiled before swinging his arm to usher her into the room. “And what brings you to this cold room in a cold basement?”

Burying her grumpiness that he realized she stood outside, she smiled back, sat in a ratty, leather-padded seat, settled the bag on the console, then sank down into the cushions. “Well, one good thing, a couple bad things.”

He laughed. “Sounds promising.” He reclaimed his chair with a bemused grin and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the black strands into a loose tail before releasing them.

She held up a finger. “One. I went to the Lells today. A shopkeep and her customers told me the Dentherions were at the theater two days ago, and that night knocked on doors of the surrounding households to ask questions about odd happenings in the last few days.”

He sighed, his humor dwindling. “I suppose it was a matter of time before they found someone who saw the group cart Lykas to the theater.”

“Two. Shawe said the janks have hit nearly every business in the Lells and the surrounding streets, inquiring after a blond-haired person. Apparently someone at the cross grates mentioned Patch was a hunter, and they’re looking for him. And, as I’m his partner, they’re searching for me as well.”

Faelan sucked in a huge, annoyed breath. “That will go well for them.” He studied her, then pointed out the door. “I think I’ll extend the offer for Lykas and Jandra to stay. Jandra’s been learning healing care from Lady Thais and Sanna. It can’t hurt to have someone around who can help the mildly injured.”

Was there such a thing as a mildly injured rebel? “I don’t see why the janks don’t just check the Pit,” she muttered. “The black coats should be on top.”

“Who said they’re in the Pit?”

Oh. Then where had they dumped the bodies? Did she want to know?

“We’ll keep Lykas safe until the threat passes.”

Or until the palace conducted a raid. She yanked her thoughts from the depressing direction.

“Third, Shawe confronted janks who stopped me as I left his store. Brander’s taking some rebels to check on him.”

“His temper hasn’t improved with age, I take it,” Faelan asked with droll amusement.

“Nope. It’s as hot as his forge, backed by fists as strong as his steel. Fourth, there were janks all over the Lells and five of them were at the Eaves.”

“Five at the Eaves? Maybe you need to stay here for the time being, too. They seem too interested in talking to you.”

“That’s not all. There were three shanks waiting outside by the water tank. One of them had a lightning gauntlet.”

Faelan’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. So the Beryl are helping the janks.” He leaned forward and snagged a notepad. “When you bring bad news, you really bring bad news, don’t you.”

She nudged his leg with her foot, exasperated at the teasing. She had a sweet thing, too—he just had not seen it yet. With a half-grin, he scribbled two copies and reached to his right, grabbing what looked like a knob with an attached handle. He pressed one of the many buttons on the top, which blinked a fast blue before fading. Then he folded the sheet and signed the outside with a messy hand.

She heard bustling footsteps in the hallway, and Whitley peeked in. He noticed her and smiled, the darkness behind his eyes lighting. She still had not spoken to him about what made him irritated and grumpy, and she made a mental note to do so. If she remained at the House, that would be simpler to catch him between courier deliveries.

“Good to see you, Whitley.”

“Glad you’re OK, Lapis. Lykas and Scand told me about the janks.”

“Yeah, I’ve had better weeks.”

He half-laughed as he accepted the letters. “Be careful. The janks are everywhere right now. I have to keep to the tunnels if I want to avoid them.”

“I’m kinda surprised they aren’t down there yet.”

“They may be, through a syndicate,” Faelan said. “Whitley, one goes to Layne, one goes to Patch and Armarandos. Ask at the community center. Linden knows where they’re at.”

He tapped the paper against his forehead and withdrew.

“Be careful!” Lapis called after him.

“He always is,” Faelan said, sloughing down. “So what’s the nice thing?”

She slid the bag from the console, withdrew the purple box from the bag, and handed it to him. He arched an eyebrow, accepted, and opened it.

“Lapis,” he breathed. He hooked the chain with his fingers and raised it, eyes drifting over the links.

“I wanted to replace the necklace you gave me at Fools and Ghouls.” He looked at her, and she realized he knew it meant more than that. Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked away. She did not want to cry while giving him his gift!

“I haven’t seen a metal like this.” He set the box down and held out his hand to coil the chain in the center of his palm. “What is it?”

“Braxio.” She shrugged. “I bought it at Shawe’s. He said the metal’s found in the deep, dark jungles of Zouldan.”

Faelan chuckled, unhooked the clasp, and put it on. It wrapped loosely around his neck but did not hang low, sitting on his collarbones—a perfect fit. “Deep, dark jungles, eh? Sounds like my mood.”

“Do you like it?”

He set his hand on her leg to emphasize his words. “Yes. It fits, doesn’t it?”

He was not speaking about the physical length. “Yeah.”

“Thank you, Melanthe.” He squeezed and released her so he could pick up the box. He replaced the lid and clasped it between his palms, stilling for a moment before looking at her. “Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.”

She could not share his humor. “If I lose you again—”

“You won’t. We both sacrificed too much for me to miss standing with Midir and having the populace heap hate on our heads for building something out of Dentheria’s ashes.” He laughed, and she hoped her sarcastic annoyance manifested as dark displeasure across her visage. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reiterated. “You’ll be stuck with a big brother for decades to come.”

Faelan kept his promises, and by the intensity in his purple gaze, he planned to sink his fingers into this one and never let go. She slid her chair over and hugged him; he held her, and she recalled her childhood, when she needed comfort for numerous kid-centric ills and he wiped her tears and her hurts away without mocking her. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Of course you do.” He pulled back and settled his hands on her shoulders. “And I plan to live up to it. I failed you, Lapis. I won’t make those mistakes again.”

She smiled, even though a single salty drop coursed down her cheek. “That should be my line.” She scrubbed her wrists over her eyes and fought to keep the rest of the tears behind her eyelids. “So Patch is with Armarandos?”

“Yes. They’re tracking something concerning the khentauree-parts tech weapons. The lead came in this morning, and they took it.”

“Well, then, I won’t worry.” If he kept Brander or Dagby company, she would fear shenanigans. But with stout, poised Armarandos? Not so much. He would be easier to find, too.

His wide smile pricked uncertainty, and she leaned forward. “Can I ask a question?”

“You don’t have to ask to ask me a question.”

“What was Requet talking about?”

Faelan studied her, then sank further down into his chair, though she could not tell whether his annoyance was at Requet or her. “The skyshroud’s running out of fuel. Midir plans to use it as a scare tactic, but it might crash before it arrives. We’ll see, but I’m not counting on it reaching us.”

“Vivina?”

“As safe as she can be on the ship. When they reach Jiy, we’ll get them off—but not before. The Black Hats aren’t happy their members are still aboard, but they’re the ones flying the ship. Requet doesn’t have the skill, though he pretends he does.”

“Black Hats know how to fly a skyshroud?”

“They learned from the Dentherions before they took off. Requet learned to press a few buttons and look important, which is about level with his skill.”

“Won’t Gall assume the ‘shroud’s on his side?”

“Yes.”

“Then how is it going to intimidate him?”

Faelan quirked his mouth to the side. “You’ll see—if the ship makes it. It’s still a few days away, and I’m not certain it’ll reach Jiy.”

Lapis narrowed her eyes; what had they planned? She did not want to see another ‘shroud hit the ground and kill people, but if Requet brought it anywhere near the city, that’s what would happen. Not feeling like digging deeper, and needing a bit more time to be in his comforting presence, she changed the subject and showed him the other presents.

Lapis peeked in the tech room on her way to the stairs, but only Jhor and Sanna were inside, discussing something. Had Tuft retired to the guesthouse? She believed the khentauree should have space to themselves, and if he chose to rest, she did not want to disturb him. If she could not find him, she would have to fill out those report papers Faelan reminded her about. While not as tedious as the forms the Jiy guard had chasers complete, they took time and effort all the same.

She found him at the back door, peering through the window as a tumble of snowflakes added to the drifts. Watching Dreamer cry as he beheld snow for the first time had affected him, and after her conversation with Jhor, she wondered how deeply. Tuft claimed that, where Dreamer experienced wonder, he only saw snow and cold, typical and uninspiring. Did he search for a sense of wonder, to see the world in a new, vibrant light?

His head swiveled to her before she reached him, his hair drifting around him as if in water, then he turned back to the snowfall.

“How is the injured khentauree?” she asked as she stopped at his side.

“Their communication improved with Jhor’s help, but their memories remain hidden,” he said, a buzz of anger riding the words. “We hope the workstation can reach more of them.”

“And how are you doing?”

“Me?” He sounded as confused as a rat who expected a Dentherion fizzy drink but received water instead.

“Well, you’re in a new country, in a new city, working with new humans and khentauree and terrons, and some nasty shit’s happened. That can lead to a lot of stress.” Did the mechanical beings feel stress? She assumed so, but had little evidence for it.

His absolute stillness worried her—just her luck, she would misspeak when she most wished not to—but after a moment, he relaxed.

“You are sincere.”

“Yes.” She would not have said it, otherwise.

“It is strange, for me. What I thought was normal at the Shivers I cannot find here.”

“This House is new. I’m not certain we have a normal yet.” She slung the backpack from her shoulder. “It doesn’t have a rhythm. The Eaves is more settled.”

“Path likes the Eaves. She enjoys speaking with the customers and Dachs. I would not know what to say.”

“Ask a question. If you tell Dachs you’re interested in the Eaves’ history, he’ll go on for hours with the regulars inserting their own remembrances—and he’s an entertaining storyteller. You won’t have to say a word, just nod. Or ask the rats about what they’re reading.”

A laughter-filled buzz escaped him as she dug into the pack. “I discovered that. Gabby brought a message, and Sanna asked her about her reading. I don’t understand her fascination with ancient bathrooms, but she had much to say on them.”

Lapis chuckled. “I don’t understand it either, but the rats think it’s funny to talk about rich nobles dealing with waste problems.” She withdrew a box with a sparkly sheen that resembled sunrays touching new snow. “I wanted to give you these. I saw them at Shawe’s smithy today, and they reminded me of you.”

He cocked his head, then accepted the box. He lifted the lid and stared at the four transparent hoops inside.

“They’re earrings,” she said with a small smile, anxiety rolling through her. “And I think you like earrings.” That day, he wore three hoops in each ear, with sparkling raindrops dangling from the lobes. When he moved, they chimed together like thin shards of glass.

“I do.” He smoothed the sleek curve of the top one. “This is a gift.”

“Yeah.”

“Only Gedaavik has ever given me a gift—his code.” He picked up the earring, the spot in the center of his forehead whirling a faint cyan. “I can wear these. Sanna says she will help.”

He pivoted and strode with purpose to the stairs leading down. Lapis glanced at the strengthening afternoon storm outside and smiled at her reflection in the glass. She always told the rats to be nice. She needed to follow her own advice.

And, while Sanna helped him with the earrings, she could talk to Jhor about the additions to her gauntlet.