Lapis groggily woke, aware of warm blankets and a cold nose. She stretched, the nausea and pounding heart caused by too much alcohol affecting her. Sticking out her tongue in mockery of her condition, she rolled over—and realized she rested in bed, alone.

She shot up and looked about her room.

No Patch.

She threw off the covers, hastily donned a black shirt and pants, shoved her feet into her boots, and scurried down the hall to the restroom.

No Patch.

She did her business and hopped down the stairs, her head throbbing as if to remind her she should be asleep. Only Dalia worked, scrubbing at the tables that saw a lot more custom the night before than they typically did, and had the stains to show for it.

“Have you seen Patch?”

She looked up, as droopy as a tired pup, and shook her head. “Not this mornin’,” she intimated.

“When are you going to get some rest?”

“When Dachs gets down here.” She yawned and waggled her head in short bursts to shock herself awake. “We’re expectin’ a good crowd tonight, too, so he and Dani got some sleep, and I’ll get some before this evenin’.”

“Take care of yourself,” Lapis said sternly. The woman waved her on and she scurried back up the stairs, retrieved her gauntlets, and raced to Rin’s room.

She knocked, hard. “Rin! I need to use the way!”

She paced, impatient; the door creaked open, and she pushed inside, rushed to the secret entrance that led to the rebel House, triggered it, and fled down the stairs.

“Lanth!” he called, but his voice faded as she entered the tunnels and ran.

She clambered up the exit ladder and into a dilapidated gardener’s shed at the back of the property. A sentry guarded it day and night, just in case someone unsavory used the access, and Faelan made certain he introduced her to each one. The dark-haired woman leaning against the doorway, reading a book, was familiar to her. Tearlach’s cousin. Adaleiz.

“Has Patch used the tunnel today?” she asked as she hefted herself over the top rung.

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday, at the Lells,” she said.

Swearing, Lapis ran to the House.

In the garden before the side entrance lay the terrons, sacked out and rumbling in sleep. A black tarp protected them from the rays of bright sun blaring down, and the hollow contained blankets and the type of padding she associated with mats the wealthy used in their exercise environments. Nathala raised her head, and she stopped to acknowledge her.

“I’m glad you have a place to rest,” she said. The terron rumbled and nodded, her mouth pulling into a smile. “Have you seen Patch?”

She shook her head.

“Thanks.” Nodding, she trotted to the door and whisked inside.

The interior was deathly silent; not a surprise, since the celebration lasted well into the early morning hours, and the majority of rebels slept off hangovers. At least, the ones she hung with did; too much of Patch’s happy juice mix.

Had he done that on purpose? Damn him, she would throttle him when she found him.

She conducted a cursory inspection of the basement, the first floor, took the stairs up, sped down the left-hand, striped hallway, and whisked into the room she shared with Patch.

No Patch.

She scurried the few strides to Faelan and Jetta’s room on the opposite side, hating to disturb them, but her brother was the only one who could help her. She knocked, hard.

“Faelan! Patch’s gone!”

She paced, tears pricking her eyes, before her brother opened the door while pulling on a rumpled shirt.

“He didn’t.”

“He’s not at the Eaves, the ladder guard nor the terrons have seen him today. He didn’t have a stake planned because of the holiday, and if he went to get something to eat, he would have woken me up to ask what I wanted.”

She should have elicited a strict promise from him about chasing his sister the next day, but it had not occurred to her. If she demanded it, he would have stayed, however unhappily. Dammit.

Jetta strode across the floor, also dressed head to toe in black, her hair pulled back in a tight tail. “And we all know him well enough to know he’s going after Damara.”

Faelan looked down the hall and she pivoted; Rin and Lyet, also rumpled, but serious enough she did not chastise them for trailing her.

“I knows where them cages ‘r at,” the rat told them. “Maydie ‘n Movique moved ‘m t’ Lad’s Alley durin’ the festivities. More room there.”

Lad’s Alley was not an alley, but the circular remains of a noble’s garden retreat no one had bothered to clean up. The center housed a broken gazebo surrounded by cracked, empty planters, and shattered stone benches and sculptures spanned the walls. The space remained in shadow because the tall buildings next to it did not let much sunlight through. The shortcut between east and west Lells ran through it, so the space experienced quite a bit of traffic during the day, including beast-pulled carts. Only Maydie and Movique’s insistence on leaving the aristocratic trappings had kept it from becoming a larger thoroughfare.

Lapis anxiously followed Rin as he led the group to the place, repeatedly promising to throttle sense into Patch when she found him. No, ridding Jiy of his sister would not help matters, but make them worse. If it absolutely had to be done, she would do it. Even though her partner elicited a promise that she never would kill, his going after his kin broke one he made to her, so she figured it evened out.

Cages lined the walls, some off-balance because they rested on uneven stone, many with inhabitants in various states; some slept, some had passed out in their vomit, some leaned against the bars and shouted at the Minq guards. Some sat with their hands tied behind their backs and pissily regarded everyone while snarling and snapping.

Lapis did not see Patch, nor his sister, nor The Gods’ Hands. She did note a woman holding numerous papers and speaking to another, agitated woman who screamed about something and thrust her hand towards one of the cages. The man inside had a trail of green-brown, chunky puke flowing from his mouth and over the cage floor, to dribble onto the ground beneath.

She closed her eyes, hoping she, too, did not make a mess. The sight churned her tender stomach.

“Looking for Patch?”

Lapis whirled; Tamor. That he even asked meant her partner had shown up and inquired after his sister.

“Thank you for protecting Lanth, Patch and Rin last night,” Faelan began.

He waved a hand and shook his head. “Stupid shits, the lot of them,” he grumbled. “Wish the guard were still active, so we could have dumped them at a guardhouse and let them deal with the trouble. But we didn’t have any place to send them, and Shara didn’t want a noble and her bodyguards in Minq confinement. They deserved it for the attempted shooting.”

“With this one, Shara’s caution is necessary,” her brother murmured.

“Yeah, know it,” he said with a grimace. “Anyway, Patch showed up about an hour ago, asking after those assholes. A servant came and paid the fine for them around dawn. Damara demanded, in front of everyone and in a voice loud enough to curl steel, to know where ‘he’ was, and the servant said something about the Bells storehouse and they took off.”

Lapis blew her breath between her teeth as Faelan sighed. “Thanks.”

“Not a lot to go on.”

“No, but it’s a start.”

“Told him that, too, but he just smiled. He knows where she went, doesn’t he?”

“I believe so.”

“Thanks again,” Lapis said. “And I hope you’ll be able to get some sleep soon.” She noted the gray under his droopy eyes and thanked the non-existent gods that she had found her bed at an almost decent hour, even if her body demanded more rest.

“Me too. I’ll be back again tonight. Looks like it’ll be another packed house.”

“You expect Maydie and Movique to play it any less?”

He waved his hand. “Of course not. I hope you catch up to Patch. Considering all that’s going on, leaving those two to rot in each other’s company is for the best.”

Lapis wished her partner agreed.

She waited until she believed them outside the Minq’s hearing, then settled her arm through her brother’s. “Faelan, remember that page that Lykas and Scand picked from the troublemaker in the Lells? It listed an address for a Bells residence along the river.”

“And we know the troublemaker met with The Gods’ Hands, even if things turned sour. A link. Hopefully the right one.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

“If Tamor told Patch about the Lells, and he didn’t ask for more info, then he knows where she went,” Jetta said. “Which means a property owned by Diros.”

“Yes. Do you remember the address, Lanth?” Faelan asked.

“I think so.”

“How well do you know the Bells?”

She winced. She never enjoyed visiting the Bells. The residents, due to their good fortune, had inflated opinions of their worth. Snobby artisans and erudite merchants bragged about their skills and talents while doing what they could to badmouth rivals and undermine their reputations. Some scholars participated in the same games, to the point that bookstores and small libraries open to the public refused to serve the likes of her.

And the establishments that catered to the noble estate owners prevented her from setting foot across their thresholds. That never stopped her from snagging her stake, but it did make for awkward recalibrations of her plans.

“Not well. I mostly avoided it because it’s not a district Grey Streets chasers are welcome. Patch has filled dozens of stakes from merchants and nobles there, though, so he’s familiar with the back ways.”

“We’re going to need a guide, then.”

“Yeah.” Her emotions cratered; the wasted time in finding someone to help. Who should they ask?

Brander. “Brander’s place is close,” she whispered.

Faelan half-smiled. “And I know the person to ask about Bells properties belonging to Diros.”

Embarrassment wormed its way into Lapis’s cheeks as she sat on the opulent cerulean couch, next to her brother, hands clenched together, staring at her scuffed boots as they drowned in plush brown carpeting.

She had forgotten Lady Thais Mayventhel, Patch’s aunt, the woman who healed her after the Dentherion soldier poisoned her. She now resided with Lord Adrastos, making her an easy person to contact about which properties her kin held.

Good on Faelan, for remembering her. Bad on her, for forgetting.

Extra bad on her, for gaping at the extravagant home Lord Adrastos owned. As she viewed the apple trees and shoulder-high, white stone lamps that lined the marble entry walk, she replayed her mother’s stories about Grumpy Garden Man over and over, aghast she found so much amusement in them as a child. Walking into the arched front door, into a foyer with tall white columns, white tile with blue veins, paintings of mythical characters her height, and a chandelier of delicate blue and white crystal, something her childhood home emulated but did not equal in extravagance . . .

Faelan had not noticed, Brander appeared nonchalant, but Jetta winked at her, recognizing her unease and silently supporting her. Hopefully Rin and Lyet rushed faster than fast to wake Caitria, and she hastily arrived at the mansion, giving them a reason to vacate without offense. Then she could drown in her embarrassment over her reaction.

Lady Thais sucked in a breath and set her rose-painted teacup on the dark-stained table next to her over-padded cerulean chair. “Yes, Diros owns a residence in the Bells. Our aunt willed it to me, but my father convinced me to sign it over to my brother because I planned to enter the Seven Gods’ Temple. I never should have agreed.” She leaned forward, a hand keeping her flowered dressing gown tightly closed, her blue eyes glinting in the dim lighting struggling to illuminate the room from behind heavy brown drapes. “It’s on the border of the Bells and the Reeds, right on the river. Quite the large estate, with two main houses and several smaller ones at random intervals. Patch knows it well; he visited often as a child.”

Not good.

“Now, my aunt smuggled Dentherion perfume into Jiy,” she continued.

Lapis blinked. What?

“She loved the anurspice scented perfumes, and Gall’s grandfather, Gentine, had placed restrictions on who could own it. He had quite the dislike of Dentherion scents, and the ladies of the court disliked his prohibitions. So my aunt smuggled in perfume for them—including the queen.”

Interesting.

“She needed a clandestine way to ensure the bottles made it to her. Stars’ luck, she said, that she happened upon an ancient sewer grate in the embankment. Curious, she nosed about, and discovered that it led to a labyrinth of tunnels.”

“Those are still in use,” Brander murmured. He had his head planted in his palm, eyes half-lidded, and looked as if he might fall asleep in the comfortable chair before they left.

“I’d assume so. They were quite the roundabout, and I can see guttershanks wanting to lose guards in there. Anyway, she brought in construction workers and knocked down a few walls to make a large room in which to store the perfume bottles. Then they reworked the canal the grate blocked so small boats could pass through and sail to the room. I think that’s the reason Diros wanted the mansion so badly. The labyrinth would throw off pursuers, and a storage room with access to the river would serve his illicit dealings.”

“How far is the room from the grate?” Faelan asked.

“It’s close, but I would suggest another entry. I can draw you a map.” She cleared her throat. “I am not a mapmaker, but it should do.”

A servant retrieved paper and pen, and she drew a credible map from memory, including off-shoot tunnels and doorways. She highlighted three separate ways to reach the room from the grate and two more that began at a pre-Dentherion subway stairwell. She named everything, to keep the confusion at a minimum.

“Now, the two stairwell entrances are general shank territory. My aunt blocked them, but within a few days, the blockage disappeared. She decided the effort to keep them closed was not in her best interest, so ignored them. Diros may have attempted it, but, considering how the nobles under my care complain about guttershanks in the Bells, I believe the ways are open—and kept so by the syndicates. Still, he would want to keep shanks from his business, so expect traps in the tunnels near the storage room. Something nasty and Dentherion, I’d anticipate.”

“Thank you, Lady Thais,” Faelan said, placing a hand on his chest and bowing his head.

“This is as much for my wayward nephew as you,” she reminded him.

“I’ll tell him, and also that you’d like a chat,” Lapis said. Her return, dark smile sealed their agreement.

A servant appeared at the door with a huffing Caitria. She held up a pack bulging with sharp-cornered objects. “We ready?”

Lapis never realized Brander could tuck away as much wake juice as Patch. He did not look quite how she felt—hangover sick and tired despite a bottle of water and a quick bite purchased at a random street stall—but near so. His black hair hung limply from its tail, and his golden eyes watered in the ‘need more sleep’ way. That made her feel worse about waking him.

Of course, all had indulged in Patch’s drink and expected to sleep the morning away. Had her love planned to incapacitate them, and while they slept off gin, sneak out to complete revenge on his family?

“I owe you,” she told him as he led them through back ways she never would have discovered on her own. The Bells, in her mind, was bright, pristine, reflective of the people who lived there. As such, dark alleys remained unpolluted by trash, no peeling paint marred the buildings, the bushes lining the streets never grew beyond their designated space, and the lamps always had illumination.

“I’ll think of something,” he said with a quirky grin before finishing his wake juice.

“Have you been in these tunnels?” Caitria asked.

“Yeah. And I’ve been down there when some odd stuff has happened,” he admitted. “More than one shank has run screaming from the place, claiming ghosts chased them. Sherridan thinks someone trapped certain tunnels with tech, which would provide cover for smuggling. If Diros runs an operation down there, then it’s probably him.”

“How’s the signal?” Faelan asked. The rebel shrugged and tapped the device she held. A screen took up the entire rectangular object’s length and showed white symbols instead of green.

“Not the best, but it’s working for now. When did Shara say she’ll have those relays up and running?”

“Not for a few days yet. They don’t have all the equipment, but since the knight superiors so graciously nixed the guard, they’re rushing to ship everything here and get set up before a more competent force is established. It’s an opportunity Jo Ban and Shara don’t want to miss.”

Brander shook his head as he slipped into a narrow, dark space that prickled a claustrophobic reaction in Lapis. “I never pictured Jo Ban as he is,” he admitted. “I thought he would look something like the ring bosses here; fat, foolish, mean, exploitative.”

“The Jano are an old family who think themselves akin to royalty,” Faelan said. “They’ve outlived several dynasties, so I suppose it’s not so odd they brag about their longevity. But, like any wealthy and influential family, they have nastier kin who believe they can get away with their shit because of the Minq association. And then you have Jo Ban, who uses his wealth to help those fighting against the abuses of the empire. He raised his children with a compassionate moral compass, and his influence on his grandchildren and great-grandchildren is deep.”

“I still think Lord Adrastos got rid of the old Minq boss here as a favor to him,” Caitria said. “Jiy may not be the most influential capital city, but that would make it a better place for him to implement his further-reaching ideas. Shara will not say no.”

“She agrees with him,” Faelan said. “And the Minq here have prospered under her in a way her predecessor never dreamed possible, so there’s little incentive to replace her.” He paused. “That, and the fact she’s Jo Ban’s granddaughter. The Jano are not hesitant to support their kin who hold positions of power.”

They exited the alley into a crude square area with two other entrances and warped, rusting, waist-high tubes in random places. Five-story buildings towered high above, casting all in chill-inducing shadow. In the center, a pre-Dentherion stairway led into pitch darkness below ground. The railing had fallen, leaving bent metal bits sticking out into the space, and the cement treads had deep enough cracks Lapis wondered at their stability. Unlike other places they walked through, trash hugged the walls, and black gunk marred everything.

Jetta smacked her palm over her nose. “Does it always smell like this?”

“Yep. Keeps the nosy away.” Brander tossed the wake juice container to the side, waited for Caitria to hand him a hand-held tech light, and hopped down the stairs.

What made the acrid stench? Not mold, but something as nasty. Lapis stuck the back of her hand against her nose and told the contents of her tummy to stay where they were, as she accepted a light and followed the thief. Despite the illumination, the tunnel remained shrouded in dimness; no metal or tile reflected the beams, and the earth seemed to swallow the light. Not far from the entrance, a jumble of debris blocked the way, just past two doorways on either side. Brander took the right passage, and they silently followed.

The smashed remains of tiles littered the walls, caked with enough dirt Lapis doubted her identification. Random metal bits and wires jutted from cavities in the concrete walls, and she avoided them with difficulty. Dust coated the firmer ground, hiding large cracks that could trip the unwary. The way ended in a rectangular room with one timid lantern flickering in a corner.

“Whoa. Those are engravings of Omerdewrane!” Caitria shuffled over to the carved native rock wall and shined her light over it. “Look, his ogre phase, where he’s all grimacing and menacing, with tusks and wild hair, wearing plate armor. Then he meets Chewraineve, and becomes more a feudal lord, in long robes and bound hair, having a short beard rather than tusks.”

“Ancient Jiy had several temples dedicated to our old gods,” Faelan said, his light flitting over the water-worn carvings. “Many were built on the rivers, with the only public entrances through a canal.”

“There’s even some paint left.” Caitria pressed her nose closer, then stepped back. “I want to come back and take pictures. It’s important, to save this history.”

“The labyrinth is filled with this kind of decoration,” Brander said. “Before we continue, I need to see the map Lady Thais drew.”

Caitria dug it out of her pack and gave it to him. Lapis perked up as voices not from their group echoed to them. She could not tell which tunnel they came from, only that they sounded distant.

“Did you hear that?” she asked as she realized the other four remained engrossed in the map.

“Hear what?” Faelan asked.

“Voices.”

They paused, listening. A low thrum coursed around her, and she winced as it caused her arm hair to prickle and made breathing difficult. Caitria handed her pack to Jetta before fiddling with the screen of her tech.

“Ugh. The signal’s weak, and flipping in and out. There’s tech down here that’s triggering the sensors when they’re up. That’s probably what’s causing the vibration.”

“I have a way around the tech,” Brander said. “And it’s a sneakier way to the room than what Thais gave us.” He half-laughed. “That storage room isn’t as secure as Diros thinks.”

The thrum rolled over them again. Lapis thought she caught a glint of light through the fractures in the engravings that coincided with it. With a quick glance at another tunnel leading from the room, Brander hastened on. She hesitated–should she tell them about the wall?–but Faelan planted his hand on her back and pushed her on with a tad more force than necessary.

The drawn map did not do the labyrinth justice. Perhaps the dark had something to do with it, but she felt lost after the first two changes of direction, and the creep of loneliness that drifted up her back and infected her mind did not help. She pondered Patch, alone, walking these same pathways, and sadness hit her like a brick.

Did he hear voices down there? Feel the vibrations? See the light? How did he handle it by himself?

Brander’s sneakier way was a hole in the upper wall of a wider passage, one high enough that, unless a person shined a light directly up, they would not notice it. Handholds jutted from the wall, looking like debris unless one realized they created a trail up to the opening. She stared at it, unamused, as Brander grabbed the first handhold and hefted himself up.

She magnanimously allowed Jetta and Caitria to go next and would have prodded Faelan up, too, but he folded his arms and regarded her steadily. Annoyed, she scurried up, holding her breath until she gasped for air. Would her brother catch her if she fell?

She hefted herself into the tunnel. Light wobbled back and forth in front of her, at a distance. She crept towards it, biting her lip to keep whimpers inside. Ambercaast taught her scary things going bump in the dark were not figments of her imagination. She flashed back to the locker she and Brander hid in, hoping the big bad men with tech passed them by, and clenched her hands. How much of a liability would she be on any stake with Patch, now that deep, dark places terrified her?

The air grew brighter. Through watering eyes, she watched shadows move out of the way, exposing a glaring radiance. Squinting, she exited onto a rocky, narrow path littered with bits of rock. The outcropping hugged the wall and faded into a grey haze a quarter of the way around.

She crept to the edge and peered below. The room contained more ancient carvings situated between engaged columns, and all appeared in good condition. Stacks of boxes, larger crates, and barrels stood between the walls and the canal running through the center, illuminated by lamps dangling from black wires that crisscrossed between metal poles. Downstream of an arched wooden bridge, rowboats tied to platforms rocked gently in the flowing water. A system of cranes and pulleys moved the containers via thick ropes to the platforms, where men unhooked them and lowered them into the boats below.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

Lapis started at the shrill voice, then gritted her teeth. Damara. Demanding, sulky, overdramatic. It startled her they arrived at the same time; had the woman walked across Jiy? No; she seemed like the type who would stable their carriage in a safer part of western Jiy, like the Orchards or the Meadows, then hail a local cart or rickshaw to reach the Lells. She would have needed to find another one, which, considering the crowds the night before and the time of day, was likely in short supply.

She scanned the area, searching for Patch; not only did the pathway contain plenty of boulders and jutting outcroppings to hide behind, but so many huge objects crowded the room below, she had nowhere to begin a thoughtful search for her concealed partner.

“I did not stop at home, because he wanted me to come here first. I spent the night in a filthy cage! Do you hear me? Those animals treated me like one of them, and I need a bath to wash the scum away! And now he’s not even here?”

The woman stood in front of a rickety shed, waving her arms about as she screamed at a man in dark green and black livery–the same colors the guards who accompanied Patch’s brother wore, which made them Mayventhel employees. A stack of crates semi-hid her as she moved back and forth, whisking past The Gods’ Hands and whapping his legs with her skirt; judging by his stiff stance and insistence on staring at the ground, he hated the confrontation.

Caitria sighed. “I’m just getting static on this, so I can’t locate Patch using it,” she whispered, holding up the device. “Whatever Diros has that interferes with signals, it’s advanced tech.”

Faelan exited the tunnel and took in the room. “Well, she’s here.” He crawled to Caitria and peered at her non-functioning screen.

“And loud enough, Patch can’t miss her,” Jetta murmured.

Lapis was too far away to take her out before her partner did; her blades did not shoot beams or crossbow bolts. Perhaps they could throw a stone or six? If they thought the ceiling was collapsing, that should force them under cover.

“Faelan!” Jetta hissed.

She looked at her brother; he sprawled out, a tech weapon against his shoulder, sighting. Or, more accurately, the outline of a tech weapon. Finger-wide metal sheets formed the skeleton, with a black rectangle in the center and a credible sight.

Where had that come from? It reminded her of Patch’s crossbow, which folded into a small enough shape, he could shove it into his pocket. Had Sils made them both? Would he create one for her?

“You worry too much, Jetta,” he told her before he fired.

The cyan beam shot clear through one of the pulley apparatuses. The rope unraveled and the metal burst apart, sending containers tumbling to the ground below.

The explosion that followed shot wood and metal debris into the air, high enough to pelt them. Electricity snaked up to strike the ceiling, bolts zipping to the side. Rock surrounding the affected area crumbled to the floor.

“Faelan!” Jetta snarled, snagging the weapon and jerking it from him.

“How was I supposed to know they’d explode?” he demanded.

Screams rang from below as more containers exploded. The rock beneath them shuddered, and chunks broke off the edge, plummeting down. Brander hissed and pointed at the tunnel; they retreated, far faster than they entered.

But what about Patch? Lapis stretched to peer over the rim; she only saw billowing orangish-grey smoke that held the burned metal scent of keltaitheerdaal.

The walls vibrated and rock rained down, pattering them with small bits. “Lanth!” Faelan hissed.

She scampered into the tunnel and raced to the end; when she hit the exit, she grabbed the edge, fell out of the tunnel, and hung briefly, nearly knocking Jetta in the head, before pushing away and dropping. Landing heavily, she winced as the bottom of her feet stung and limped out of the way for Caitria and Faelan.

She pushed the back of her hand against her mouth to keep the sobs inside. Had Patch been on the rock walkway, or down below? Had the explosion caught him? What if he were injured? His family would murder him if they discovered him in the rubble.

She choked. Had they just killed Patch?