Lapis stared at the undecorated wall of her room, rocking her left leg back and forth over the edge of the unmade bed, and attempted to dare herself into a chase. She wanted to leave the confines of the Eaves, but prudent caution kept her there. A few days longer, and Heran’s stake should be a distant memory for any guttershank chaser who thought to take it. Copper and the guard had made certain the chasers above ground knew the payout was fake, and she had the impression a very unhappy Sewri did the same in the underground.

No one knew who copied the stake and spread it so wide; guardhouses outside the Grey Streets received a copy of it, and Fyor had to send an official withdrawal. Oddly, the acknowledgments of compliance stated that no one remembered receiving the stake, that it was not on the acceptance lists, but somehow it had made its way into their stake books. When Patch spoke to Fyor about the trouble, he confided that several guard superiors had initiated internal investigations because the obviously fake stake never should have entered the books. They did not want to deal with the potential career-ending cost of an unapproved stake against a wealthier, more influential person being slipped into the books and filled.

If their self-preservation caught the culprit, so be it.

She still had a hard time believing disgruntled rebels had nothing to do with it. What if the investigations led the guard to the House?

A sharp knock on the door made her suck in a depressed sigh. Rin constantly checked on her, and his worry aggravated her. She had no plans to expose herself to more danger than necessary, but he seemed to think her normal risk aversion had died when she attacked Perben. Not so; only the murderous rebel traitor could have prompted her to forsake her typical carefulness, and Heran’s stake did not elicit the same hunger for vengeance.

She heaved herself off the bed, paused, and cocked her head. Rin normally called out, so she knew who to expect. She narrowed her eyes and took a few steps back, wary.

“Who is it?”

“Lady,” someone said. A younger man, someone she did not recognize. A chill raced up her spine, and she quickly slid one of her gauntlet blades from its sheath and settle into a fighting stance. How lucky, she had chosen to wear them, even in the relative safety of her room. “I have a message for you.”

Sure he did. “Could you please leave it with Dachs at the bar? He’ll tip for a courier,” she said.

“Alright.”

Muffled footsteps trotted down the stairs. Holding her breath, she crept to the door and pressed her ear against it; she heard nothing through the wood. Debating whether to open the door and expose herself to a potential attack, or wait until someone came to check on her, she grabbed the knob.

The sharp knock made her screech, and she fell back, heart pounding so hard she could barely hear.

“Lady, there’s a message for you.”

Dachs.

She quickly opened the door. He stared at the envelope with a small frown, then looked at her, too serious, before handing her the letter. Someone had washed the paper in a yellow dye to make it look old, and the wax seal held a half-skull, the insignia of the Ramiran Skulls.

She blinked at it, then looked at a perturbed barkeep.

“The courier had Midir’s crest, so this’s legit,” he said.

“Why are the Skulls sending me a letter?” Lapis bit her lip and retreated inside, sliding her blade back into its sheath. Dachs followed, his curiosity peeking out from beneath his concern. She settled on the bed while he locked the door, popped out a small throwing knife from the bottom of the gauntlet, and carefully opened the envelope with the tip of the blade. “If this is official rebel correspondence, this should be going to Midir or Faelan.”

“You’re easier to find,” Dachs told her.

“Hmm.” She should be impossible to find, if no one knew her city identity. She opened the page and scanned the short timetable. “Midir’s serious about this change he wants,” she murmured. “Jarosa’s coming.”

Dachs closed his eyes, raised his eyebrows, and made a huge production of blinking. “Jarosa.”

“She accepted the invitation to meet Lady Lanth at the Eaves upon arrival in Jiy.” Lapis stared at Dachs, a strangely calm anger descending as she sheathed her little blade with a shing. “And when, do you think, I was going to be informed that they made me the contact for foreign rebellion leaders?”

He had no answer, and she expected none.

She carefully folded the page, set it on the blanket next to her, and regarded the barkeep with stern heat. “She will be here this evening.”

“Lady, I’m hardly prepared to entertain a Meint Veritiate Deathknell.”

“Believe it or not, she isn’t religious,” Lapis muttered. “She’s a Meint because that allows her to be the Commander of the Skulls. I don’t think they’ve had anyone in charge who hasn’t had some official ranking within the religion.”

“You know her?”

Lapis nodded, emotions welling. “She often visited my father,” she said. “Unlike some of the leaders, she always had a kind word to say to us kids. I admired her fire and determination, and I loved listening to her rebel stories.”

“I need better food,” Dachs mumbled.

“Don’t.” She raised her hand and shook her head. “When I say Jarosa cares less about pomp and circumstance than a street rat, I mean it. She’ll be fine with what’s served, food or drink.” She smoothed her shirt, a wrinkled affair with ragged edges and a very worn feel. “I think I should bathe, though. Rin around? I want to use his tub.”

He offered, after all. He did it because he could gloat about out-bargaining Dachs for the suite, but she had determinedly promised herself to accept so generous a suggestion. The barkeep laughed, his belly jiggling, the forced humor covering his nervousness.

Jarosa had that effect on people. As a child, Lapis puzzled over the reactions because she had never seen the confident woman as anything but a typical rebel intent on bringing the Dentherion Empire to its knees. She had full faith, the woman would live up to that lofty ideal.

The sound of a key in the door caught their attention. Patch entered, distracted, and paused when he noticed Dachs. She held up the page and pointed imperiously at it.

“Jarosa’s coming here?” she asked, though her unamused question sounded more like a demand for information. He studied her, unblinking, processing. Did that mean neither Faelan nor Midir had mentioned it to him? Better and better.

“Shit.”

Dachs chuckled, patted him on the arm, and looked even more nervous.

The street rat presence had dried up with the rain. Only the regular readers sat at the table, each with a huge volume, slogging intrepidly through the small text. Lapis had no idea why the others read the set dedicated to ancient knightly practices along with Gabby, but they did. She idly watched as even Rin had to pause and slowly sound out a word or two; the scholar who wrote the thing loved long, uncommon vocabulary, proving his intellect and, in her opinion, his self-adoration.

At least the tattered dictionary finally proved its worth.

Patch handed her a page from several he perused, and she took it, smoothing the edges as she read through the neat script. The stake seemed typical enough—retrieve a stolen item from the guttershank who took it—but something about the careful wording bothered her. She squinted at it mulling the text, before Patch tapped the edge.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured. “You don’t trust it, either. This was at the back of the book, among the ones you usually take.”

“You were getting me a stake?” she asked, a small, glowing warmth expanding through her chest because he had thoughtfully looked. He must anticipate her returning to chasing soon.

“Yeah. Something about this one’s bothering me, though, and I don’t know what it is.”

She reread it. “Maybe it’s too scripted. Everything reads nice, not Grey Streets.” She pointed at the name. “Usually the poorer stakers attach their names because the only way a chaser will take their stake is through sympathy, and their identity adds to that. This says Lells merchant. Most Lells merchants don’t write this kind of stake. There’s more exaggerated emotion and misspelled words, and if they guess I’ll be the one taking it, they add my name.”

Patch grinned at that. “True.”

“You have read some of the gossips’ stakes, right?” Lapis eyed him; the Lells merchants leaned to melodramatic when they staked a guttershank for theft, waxing long about the terrible burden it placed on them and their business. She had slogged through a couple that might as well have begun a saga, with enough awkward flourishes, it embarrassed her to read them.

“A few,” he admitted. “The guards laughs over them.”

Not nice, but expected.

Rin tugged at the sheet and she released it; he scanned the stake and scooted near, serious. “How comes you think it’s a bad stake?”

“It’s something you learn quickly as a chaser,” Lapis told him. “There are a lot of strange stakes that seem as if the person who took it out has other motives than those listed. Many chasers ignore that, but I don’t. You can avoid a lot of difficult situations if you pay attention to the odd. Ask questions if you need to. And research your stake. Don’t take the paper at face value if something bothers you about it.”

“You’ve given up on stakes, ‘cause o’ that?”

“Yes.”

“Careful keeps her alive,” Patch said quietly. “It’s a good habit to get into.” He kissed the side of her head. “You and Lykas need to pay attention to this kind of thing. It’s easy for inexperienced chasers to get in the middle of a lover’s spat or a family feud and end up on the injured end of things.”

Rin placed the page on the table and pointed at the item listed as stolen. “Y’know, that sounds like the knife Dandi had, the one he was thinkin’ was real but wasn’t, just an actor’s prop.”

It did. Lapis frowned and reread the description. “You’re right.” Patch eyed her, and she made a face. “Dandi tried to break Phialla and Ness’s pottery and took a swing at Lyet with this weird knife. It had a jagged edge, like teeth. Fyor said a theater company had their props stolen, and it was probably one of their knives, but he used it as if it were real.”

Patch studied the page, sucking on his lower lip. “And you said Orinder hooked up with Hoyt.”

“Yeah.”

“So, a chaser-targeted stake.” He jerked his chin at Rin. “This is something else you need to watch for. Chasers get staked, like anyone else. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. Sometimes it’s because a person they brought to justice is pissed about it. Sometimes it’s revenge for something going on in their personal life. Chasers tend not to take those, because they don’t want to be on the receiving end of one. But sometimes the person taking out the stake gets tricky. They target the stake towards a specific chaser as best they can and lure them into a trap.”

“So this’s a stake on the Lady, hid in a reg stake?” Rin’s eyes widened. “Never thunk, such’s a problem.”

“People suck,” Patch told him as he sipped from his beer. He normally hated the watery swill, but Dachs had decided to buy kegs from the Sweetness Brewers, ones that were light on alcohol and did not rely on hops for bitter-over-decent taste. Lapis wondered how many customers ate at the Eaves just to have a non-Dentherion, flavorful drink with their meal.

“I wonder who took it out, grandfather or grandson.” She ran a hand slowly through her black tresses as she remembered the guard who had walked away during the Dandi confrontation and his reluctance to get further involved in Orinder’s revenge scheme. “Their bodyguards might agree to take out a chaser, but the one I confronted didn’t strike me as involved enough in Orinder’s dirt to risk his life like that.”

“Orinder’s in heaps o’ trouble, Lady.” Rin’s green eyes twinkled. He, nor the rats who plied the Lells, liked the man, and he returned their antipathy with gusto. “After you’s helpin’ Sir Armarandos at the Trees Street Guardhouse, the guard came down on ‘em, hard, ‘cause the guttershanks planned the attack at his place ‘n when they went t’ arrest ‘em, they found them tech eggs. The guard ain’t decided, who else they’s gonna nail fer all them crates of tech. Orinder, sure, but his kin? Dandi ‘n his daddy are sayin’ they’s just storin’ merchant stuff fer them guttershanks, gettin’ good pay fer it, ‘n never asked what’s inside them crates.”

“They had to know about the stash,” Lapis muttered. “If for nothing else, what to do if they exploded.”

“I wonder why they even agreed to traffic tech. It’s not like they have noble backing protecting them from the consequences.” Patch leaned back, crossed his arms, and tapped his fingers on his biceps. “Maybe I should ask Jetta to look into it. She’s bored enough to accept.”

He had such nice arms, and they felt wonderful wrapped around her. She immediately pulled her thoughts back to the table; she wanted a hug to drive away the anxiety triggered by the sneaky stake but knew that indulging in his embrace would have to come after Jarosa showed up.

“Bored?” Rin asked.

“Jetta . . . is a problem solver.” A nice way to put it, Lapis supposed. Of course, Patch was mindful enough not to relate her importance with a table full of rats within hearing distance. “But she normally solves problems outside of Jiy, not within. This will give her a chance to do something other than stand at Lady Ailis’s back and listen to the dreck.”

She noticed the three people first; they entered the Eaves and looked around, something tourists normally did to acclimate themselves to the interior environment. Two had grey hoods despite the lack of rain, and Jarosa stood in front of them.

Her brown curls hung free to her shoulders and bounced about joyously, a contrast to her dark, sober stare. She wore comfortable leather, something a successful chaser would sport, rather than the rich attire one would expect a ranking member of the Meint religion to don. She had short, scruffy boots, the laces wrapped about the tops a couple of times. Her fashion had not changed much in eight years.

Lapis heard the stomach-churning clunk of an ink bottle spilling.

She hissed and reached over Rin to grab the small vial before too much leaked onto the table; Scand grabbed the much-stained towel the rats used to clean up unfortunate messes and plopped it onto the ink, his cheeks hot with a blush.

“Scand!” Gabby protested, rescuing her thick volume from the runny liquid. She hugged it briefly then reared back and smacked him in the arm with it.

“NICE!” Lapis hissed as Scand stumbled back against the bench, sat down, then popped up, revenge in his eyes. Brone whacked his stomach with the back of his hand, a warning he desperately wished to ignore, but Lyet, who rose to finish staunching the flow, glared him into his seat. He folded his arms and grumbled. Both Phialla and Ness looked back and forth, then returned to their books, unconcerned.

Lapis looked at the half-empty glass and fought not to groan. Ink was expensive, even the cheap kind apprentices and novices used. Why had she decided ink-messy was better than charcoal-messy? She was tempted to force the older rats to use the slate and chalk, like the younger ones did when learning letters and their first words, but immediately thought better of it. Phialla would wipe her white fingers on anyone close enough to touch because she refused to soil her dusty gear with chalky smears, and the younger ones would follow her example.

She took the edge of the towel and wiped down the vial, keenly aware Jarosa and her guards had wandered over to the table and watched the proceedings. Half of her did not wish to meet her stern gaze, but she had no excuse. She doubted Jarosa had enough of a link to any of Alaric and Iolanthe’s children to care that she had lied about her death.

Or . . . perhaps she did.

Jarosa had teared, though she showed no other reaction. Her people studied her, concerned, and had no idea how to react. Lapis remembered her as a strong woman not prone to much emotion, though she had a heavy slant towards sarcasm in her conversations. That she almost cried, in public, startled all of them.

She waved her stained fingers at the chairs carefully placed at the table, towards the edge where Patch sat. “Please, there’s plenty of room to sit.” So much for a bath with flower-scented soap meant to impress; inky digits negated the cleanliness.

Jarosa smiled through her tearing joy. “Thank you.” She carefully sank to the nearest chair, then licked her lips and stared at the tabletop while she fought through her emotions. “I was told that I would know my contact once I saw them,” she said quietly. “I thought it too odd but came anyway.” She shook her head and rubbed at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “I’m certain everyone tells you that you look like your mother.”

“Yeah.”

“And your brother.”

“We did inherit her black hair and purple eyes.”

“I’m happy you survived, Melanthe,” she whispered. Lapis’s heart froze. She remembered her name? “Dearest stars, I don’t know what to even say.” She dropped her hands and half-laughed. “Faelan is fond of his surprises.”

“Would you like to eat? The menu’s not bad, and the beer’s not bitter.”

One of the guards snickered, which earned him a rebuke from his partner, but his amusement flowed from him and flavored the air about them. She remembered, the first thing she had learned about Jarosa, was that the woman hated bitter and sour things and did not mind telling all within hearing about her dislike.

“I’d like that.” The rebel glanced at the street rats, studied a curious Rin, and eyed the large volume Gabby now clutched closely to her chest with a small frown. “Is that Arturo’s screed on knights?”

Gabby’s warm brown cheeks brightened to a glowing orange. “Yes! I asked Sir Armarandos about being a knight, and he told me his first exposure to knighthood was reading this set. He said it’s boring, and that he’d discuss what I thought was wrong afterwards.” She made a face, as if she smelled something extremely skunky. “I don’t think knights really followed what he wrote, do you?”

Jarosa laughed. “No,” she agreed. “I think knights were a bit smarter than that.”

“Chivalry’s not a bad thing,” Lyet opined as she folded the towel so the fresh ink stained the inside of it. “Treating others with respect and being generous are good traits to have.”

“It depends on the stories you read.” Jarosa leaned back, her gaze flitting around the table. “A lot of ancient tales focus on men rescuing helpless women. Helping isn’t a bad thing, but when society oppresses people to the point they don’t have any choice but to accept aid from an over-confident knight who expects a lavish reward, it doesn’t lead to liberation, but simply another form of oppression.”

The rats had opinions on that.

Dachs’s exasperated, embarrassed reactions to their impertinence almost equaled the glee the Skull guards expressed. Lapis knew, from experience, Jarosa rarely turned away from answering a child’s questions, though she never sugar-coated them for the young. She ate, conversed, worked around a couple of slyer rat replies, and even laughed at a few things Rin said.

After a response that particularly annoyed the rats, Gabby swiped her black curls from her face and puffed out her chest. “Well, I’m going to be like Maritym, Knight of Kadenz, and Jarosa of the Skulls, when I grow up!”

All three Skulls stared at her. She grinned gleefully at the attention.

“Are you?” Jarosa asked carefully.

“Yep! They help lots of people, and I want to do that, too. Even when it’s hard, they do it.” Gabby beamed with excitement, planted her hands on the table edge, and leaned over them, intent. “I’ve read about the Forest Knights and the Ramiran Skulls. And the Lady has stories, too! That’s why I get my face painted like a Skull during Ghouls and Fools.” She pointed to the right side of her face.

“The Lady has stories?”

“Yes!” Lapis could feel her own blush descend; Patch laid a comforting hand on her back, and while he did not look amused, his eye twinkled merrily. She had told those tales, never dreaming Jarosa would ever hear about them. They put the Skulls commander in a far different light than she normally stood beneath, and she may not enjoy the insight given to strangers. “I like the one about how Jarosa waded into a stream and rescued a little kitty from a log and how it tore her all up but she didn’t drop it. I want to be like that! I want to help, even if it tears me all up, because it’s worth it, in the end.”

Something passed over Jarosa’s face, quick there, quick gone, but Gabby’s words meant something to her, and far more than amusement that a young girl from another country knew about her and her less-explosive exploits. The female guard regarded her with soft understanding; she needed to hear those words, for whatever reason.

“Lady.”

Rin’s seriousness caused her to look at him, then the door.

Meinrad, dressed to impress, walked in, with four younger rebels accompanying him.

Shit.

“Dammit,” Patch muttered through clenched teeth. The three Skulls glanced through the crowd, and the guards became far more attentive to their surroundings. Jarosa narrowed her eyes at the oblivious rebels, who glanced about to center themselves, then returned to the rest of her meal.

“Has your brother or Midir spoken to you of their plans?” the Skulls commander asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve been told, there is something going on, but not what.”

Dachs looked ready to ‘keep the bodies, if Patch had a mind to show his displeasure at their arrival. Her partner looked as if he might follow through. She cast him a warning look, which he ignored, but Jarosa did not.

“Now, now,” the woman said, focusing on the chaser. “His days as an advisor are past. Just because he doesn’t recognize it hardly means he hasn’t lost his voice.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve been asked, very politely, to refrain from visiting the House. Some believe that if I accidentally happen upon a certain someone, I may leave blood and entrails in my wake, and that would be a terrible look.” She huffed and finished her plate. “I’m not in that generous a mood.”

Meinrad stomped over, his seething directed at Lapis and Patch. Rin returned his anger, but she kicked his leg, a not-so-subtle hint to keep quiet. He understood the Grey Streets, but tangling with a noble rebel leader intent on protecting his legacy would not end well for him. The other rats quieted and stared, sober and distrustful, gathering the books and holding them close to their chests, protecting them from danger.

Meinrad ignored them, but the four accompanying him noted the reaction and spanned behind him as if they considered kids and teens a threat.

They needed to watch Jarosa more, but since she presented her back to them, they neglected her.

“I made it explicitly clear that you were to attend the meetings we had today,” Meinrad said, deciding to focus on Lapis. She clutched her hands in her lap, digging her nails into her skin, hoping the pain prevented her from saying something to out all of them as members of the rebel cause. Most of the Eaves regulars held indifferent views towards the rebellion, but that did not mean the casual customer did.

“And I made it explicitly clear that, until a certain matter was resolved, I wasn’t going anywhere.”

The man sniffed derisively. “You mean that stake?”

“The one you know nothing about?”

He snarled. “You accuse me—”

“You’re asking me to endanger myself so you can yell at me in front of a select few others. You obviously have no care about what happens to me.”

He straightened, a mean light brightening his face. “Then we have no recourse but to release him.”

Lapis felt her stomach drop as Jarosa looked up at the round man with a wide, expectant, malevolent grin. “Oh, please do,” she said in a low, throaty hum. “I haven’t had the pleasure, and I’ve so been looking forward to expressing my sincere belief in his evilness in person.”

Meinrad finally looked at her, froze, and fumbled.

“J-jar—”

She rose. Her confident fury filled the atmosphere, spilling across rebel and rat. Meinrad shrank from her, nearly colliding with those behind him. His support, uncertain how to interpret the reaction, nervously confronted her guards, who did not look averse to sticking them a time or two.

Hopefully it came to naught. Lapis would hate to have the floor stained red so near the reading table.

“I’ve little patience for your games,” Jarosa told him. “I’ve even less for the pain you continue to cause.” Her smile bordered on insane. “Lady Ailis asked me for help in her endeavor,” she whispered, a dark, alluring sound that sent shivers up the spines of her targets. “I want nothing more than Alaric’s murderer brought to justice, so I agreed. If you continue to interfere with that, I will be hard-pressed to think of you as an innocent bystander.”

“I’m certain he’s grateful for the warning.” Faelan leaned against the doorway leading to the stairs, arms folded, observing the confrontation with mild amusement. Tearlach and Mairin accompanied him, but Lapis noted no one else. A bit sparse, for an honor guard, was it not?

Meinrad, flustered, mumbled something she did not understand and Jarosa chose to ignore. The commander folded her arms behind her back and tipped her head down, eyeing her brother with exasperated consternation.

“Your surprises are becoming far more elaborate,” she told him.

He grinned back. “I thought you might appreciate this one.”

She laughed and nodded in acquiesce. “Certainly.” She gazed at Lapis, a sheen of tears blurring her eyes. “Joy enters at odd times, and in strange ways.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes.” She regarded the rats, who took everything in with wide eyes and no understanding—except for Rin, and Lapis wondered if he had already guessed the identity of their guest. “You know, I still have that kitty,” she said. “His name’s Water.”

“Damn cat,” her male guard muttered. “I can’t wait ‘til he dies.”

“You don’t think it’s fun, being a scratching post?” his partner asked.

Gabby stared in disbelief as they followed Faelan out the back, and Lapis found herself the center of intense attention. “Lady?”

“Meet Jarosa, Veritiate Deathknell of the Meint,” she said softly.

Meinrad, who had remained a small and insignificant presence until the Skulls left, popped back into outraged and aggravated Jilvaynian rebel. How many encounters had it taken between him and Jarosa, before he realized she won her confrontations and rarely needed a weapon to back her up? Patch laughed, a sharply amused sound that rubbed their opponent the wrong way. He firmed his lips into a tight ‘o’, a look Lapis recognized as a common expression wealthy noble kids wore when they felt life owed them everything they desired due to their parents’ social position.

“How dare you keep this hidden?”

“I didn’t. It was a surprise to me, too.”

“This . . . this . . .” Meinrad stared frantically about him, his eyes widening, his lips curling, his long beard jiggling about.

“I’m sure she’ll love to discuss it with you,” Patch said wryly. “If she doesn’t decide you’re an enemy first.”

“What’s she doing here?”

Lapis and Patch shrugged together.

“You’re going to be there tomorrow afternoon,” he said suddenly, pointing imperiously at her, and whirled, storming away in a flutter of rich gold and blue robes. Had he lost his appetite for confrontation? Lapis looked at Patch, who glared at the retreating rebel with hate, and Dachs, who followed him with a guarded expression. The men with him trailed after, confused. What, exactly, had they expected as an outcome?

“That’s Jarosa?” Rin asked when the group disappeared out the door. Lapis nodded carefully; he did not need more violent idols to look up to. “But . . . she was arguin’ with us, even when we said somethin’ she didn’t like.”

“She doesn’t mind speaking with kids, but some people think she’s too harsh with them.” Lapis sat back, attempting to put the muddle of her remembrances and emotions in order. “My siblings thought she was scary. I never did. She was always willing to talk to me, so I asked her many questions, and I really hated some of her answers. I still do.”

“But she looked normal,” Scand said, rubbing his fingers together as if that would alleviate the ink stains.

“She’s a veritiate deathknell?” Lyet asked, a slight tremble in her voice.

“Yes, so she can be commander of a certain skeletal operation,” Lapis whispered. “She isn’t religious, and you’ll never see her in any official robe of rank.”

“Not religious?” Brone asked, frowning.

“The Meint are odd that way,” Lapis agreed. “But they respect her greatly, and she’s done so much to get medical access to the commoners in Ramira. There’s a reason she’s a hero to them, and it has nothing to do with godly standing.”

“She stared him down,” Gabby said suddenly.

“She has a presence about her.” Lapis smiled softly. “I always wanted to be like her, to fill a room with strength and cunning by simply standing within it. Faelan once told me I’d need a firmer handle on my emotions to accomplish it, and, well, I threw a fit, which, I suppose, proved his point.” She sagged down, the past walking before her gaze in shadowy splotches. “She introduced my parents,” she said absently. “At a private party being thrown for Midir. It was one of those you-must-attend-if-you’re-somebody social events, and Lady Ailis and my mother wanted to attend. Lady Ailis knew Jarosa and asked her to help them sneak in. So she did, and then made certain they met Midir and my father, just in case antsy guards wanted to throw them out.” She laughed. “My mother thought them too conceited, but she made a far different impression on my father.”

And Midir. They never kept it secret, that the true heir to the Jilvaynan throne had desired to wed Iolanthe. Her father out-wooed him by gifting her a lapis lazuli ring, her favorite stone, a rare and exceptional piece of jewelry that she had spoken of only once, and that Alaric took to heart because he heard the longing in her voice when she mentioned it. Her mother said she had never had a beau who paid attention to her words, and she fell in love with the man who respected her voice.

“She was that close with your parents?” Patch asked.

“Yeah. You’d be surprised, the people they knew.” And every one of them would think ‘Iolanthe’ when they beheld her. How inconvenient might that prove?

“You gonna go?” Rin’s soberness washed over her memories and drowned them in the present.

“I don’t think I have a choice. He came to the Eaves to confront me, stepping out of his comfort zone in far too many ways.”

“I’ll be there,” Patch said, regarding the unhappy rat. “We’ll make certain the traitor stays where he belongs.”

Rin accepted the words, but his narrowed eyes and his quiet thoughtfulness indicated he planned something concerning the inevitable conflict. Did he appreciate the danger rebels presented to him? To the other rats? He should, considering Perben killed Miki. Lyet’s unhappiness reflected her worries, and she hoped the teen could keep him tethered while the unwanted meeting progressed. She knew, if given the proper motivation, he would storm the House in his own sneaky way and plant himself in the middle of the shit, claiming himself ‘the Lady’s man’ while getting ready to help her. She wanted him safe, not exposed.