An odd numbness filtered down her side as Rin led her across the square. The pain spiked, receded, leaving behind a sense of detachment from her body. Placing one foot before the other became a trial; she concentrated, hard, on the act.
She had kids to save. She had rats to teach. She had Patch to help. She had no time to fall to poison.
What kind? Patch did not say. She vaguely recollected that the palace guards coated their blades in a special mixture that killed quickly, but only when wet. They had a terrible time keeping it from drying out, and when it turned to powder and fell from the blade, it became inert. Rewetting did not return the potency. Had the soldiers borrowed that concoction? Or had they a different means of harming their victims?
“Lady?” She tasted his sour worry.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yer not steady on yer feet, Lady. Some’ll think you’ve been drinkin’.”
She was that bad?
“We needs t’ get you t’ the Eaves faster.”
“I can’t walk faster, Rin.”
“I’ll even carry you. I’s the Lady’s man, you know.”
Oh? She did not doubt Rin’s strength, but she was not lithe Lyet, either. She stumbled, and he grabbed her; she hunched over, pawing at her side, unable to feel his hand on her arm. The air turned muggy, warm, and she fought to suck in a breath. A slow, steady creep of white fuzz invaded her sight, turning everything into an over-bright haze. She heard Rin speak, and then quiet descended, but for the oppressive beating of her heart. She heard that exceptionally well.
Thump thuuump. “Lady.” Thump thuuump. Thump thuuump. “We gots a cart. Come on.”
Cart?
A wooden cart large enough to hold two passengers halted before them, manned by someone she thought she should know, but could not remember. A couple of crates sat at the front, but the bed held enough room for her and Rin.
She grabbed the rail and hefted herself up; the rat helped too much. Did she require that much aid? She flopped down heavily and leaned against the sideboards, blinking rapidly to clear tearing vision. The cart lurched to the snort of a horse; Rin snagged her from toppling over into the street from the open back.
“Damn Dentherions,” the cartman muttered.
“They’s got the streets blocked,” Rin told him.
“How’re you gettin’ a doctor?”
“Patch is gettin’ someone. ‘N Caitria, she gots some medical stuff. She’s at the Eaves—saw ‘er earlier. Gotta catch ‘er afore she leaves.”
Lapis tipped her head back, watching the yellowish haze above her. It faded to black against buildings and brightened again at intersections as the cart rocked back and forth. Gritty noise growled up from the wheels and bits of voice wobbled near and far. As usual, the glare of city light clouded the night sky, hiding it and the stars from resident view. A drastic change from her childhood at Nicodem, where the tiny specks sparkled across the sky, too many to count, held within wisps of shimmery space clouds.
Contemplating the future with head tipped back, indulging in the silence and enormity of it all while the forest-bound wind chilled her skin, was a pleasure she missed. Her innocent younger self had predicted a noble marriage and children and a happy, healthy home.
How did she end up in this situation, again?
She had faced death before. She had raced away, terrified, from weapon and enemy, and evaded harm. But in the garden, she had not realized her danger when the soldier struck. No chance to run, escape. She should have dodged rather than suffered his fist. She knew Dentherion duplicitousness and the deadly threat they posed. Her terrible choice could have gotten Cady killed.
She lurched into the crates. Rin snagged her back into a sitting position, holding her up as three black-uniformed men blocked the back.
Would they go away, if she asked nice?
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s sick.”
Rin did not sound like Rin. No street accent or charm, just dead words.
“Sick?” So mocking, so nonchalant.
“Happens sometimes.”
One of them growled. If she thought be nice at the rat hard enough, would he listen?
“Where are you taking her?”
“Home.”
“Home where?”
“Bitterstone.”
How lovely, for Rin to drag an unsuspecting apartment complex into the ordeal.
One of them dug his fingers into her right arm and yanked her from the sideboards, letting her dangle by it. She had not eaten much that day, too nervous about the potential Blue Council confrontation to swallow food at lunch, but she had enough acid to puke on his boots. Shiny, shiny boots. High-pitched, disgusted shrieks pierced her ears, and he dropped her, backing away and shaking his feet.
Rin picked her up and fell back into the box; the cart took off, leaving the soldiers and their venom behind. One teased his fellow, for the agitated soldier swatted at him as he attempted to rub his boot into the broken street cobbles.
Careful. They might kill one another with a simple tap.
Rin pulled himself into a sitting position, but kept her prone, one hand lying on her left arm and tightening when the cart bumped about. It lurched to a stop, and he hopped out, then slid his arms under her back and her legs, hefting her up and into the Eaves.
Perhaps Rin was stronger than she credited him with.
Bodies swirled back and forth as they entered the too-bright establishment. She always thought of the tavern as dim brown and homey, but she squeezed her eyes shut on the blaze. The rat set her on one of the stools and cool air raced across her hot shoulder. She blinked as fabric ripped and her shirt sleeve slithered down her chest. Caitria leaned over, then pulled back, a doctor’s needle in hand.
“Tearlach, I need the medibag. NOW.”
She saw fast movement but could not focus.
“He tried to hit a three-year-old?”
The outraged, low growl sifted through her, and her own rage rose, but fractured on numbness and disintegrated.
“Lady, yer shoulder’s a mess.” She squinted at the rat’s leg as he plopped down on the stool next to her, nearly scraping her nose. “Good thing I’s here to take care of you. You’d prob’ly be face-down in the street, otherwise. But I’s the Lady’s man.”
Yes, he was quite the charmer, with chest puffed out in arrogant pride. Why had she thought different? “You didn’t sound like Rin.” Of all the things to ask, that weighed most prominent.
“With them soldiers? ‘Course not. They’s wantin’ a typical merchant, ‘cause of the cart. Not like they’s smart ‘nough to figure it out.”
“Rin’s a better actor than you might think,” the cartman said. He stood to their side, as worried at the rat. Someone prodded her shoulder, and she tried to crane her neck to see, but her head refused to move.
“Lady, we’s movin’ you. Gonna throw you over my shoulder, ‘K? You’d better not puke on my shoes, though. I only gots them and they’s comfy.”
The cartman laughed, and she imagined her lack of amusement instigated it. Heat seared the skin around her eyes, adding to the fuming.
She did not quite understand what Rin meant to do until he bent over and she fell onto his shoulder. Why not carry her normally? She was not a sack of produce. The thought of food roiled her tummy, and she fought not to embarrass herself and prove Rin prophetic. The rat did not need further reasons to gloat.
Darkness coated her before cooler air shifted over her. Jostling about did not serve her stomach well, but retained control until settled on a mattress. Someone shoved a boxy thing at her, and she threw up into a container.
“You ‘sposed t’ puke green?”
What?
Rin grinned, too wide and teasing. She needed to have words with him about scaring her when she was in no position to smack him for the effort. With help, she stretched out on the mattress, one far softer than her own. Where was she? Rin’s suite? That made sense, she supposed—more room.
“D’you knows who Patch’s aunt is? He’s sayin’ she has the antidote.” Rin toured the room, lighting a myriad of candles and plunking them on short stands of silvery metal and dubious origin.
“Lady Thais Mayventhel,” a woman said.
Mayventhel? “That’s an old court family,” Lapis whispered. Very old. Their ancestors had managed some deal with the Taangis Empire that allowed them to remain in Jiy when all other noble houses were ripped asunder and sent to disparate places under empire control. As a child, she understood that gave them an extraordinary amount of political power, which they constantly abused.
“Yes. They are old, powerful, and deceitful. She broke ties with the rest of the sorry lot when they handed Patch over to the throne as a traitor, then lied about it. If he asks, she’ll help.”
“A noble?” Uncertain suspicion clouded Rin’s voice.
“Patch says that she doesn’t have much use for healing those who can’t pay for her services, but she loves her nephew. And he has enough cash to cover expenses. The antidote isn’t cheap.”
“But she gots it?”
“Yes. For Patch, in case he gets into trouble. I don’t think even Lanth knows how often she patches him up. Lady Thais says he calls himself Patch because if he were a shirt, that’s all he’d be.”
Lapis laughed; the hint of pain coursing down her side did not prick as badly. A terrible sign.
“You know her?” Rin asked.
“We’ve met a couple of times. She provided some good advice about the medibag. Faelan knows her much better. Through him, she gets rare supplies to the underground clinics in Jiy. She may be snobby, but she provides a crucial service.”
Racing footsteps outside the door; the rat slipped away and within a moment, fingers prodded at her shoulder.
“Harkenberry isn’t exactly the closest district to the Grey Streets.” She recognized the woman’s voice, but much like the cartman, could not quite place it.
“I know,” the one prodding her said. “And if Patch hires a cart, it’s going to be obvious. He’ll have to take an underground route, and who knows what that’s going to be like.”
“Lord Adrastos sent word,” the other woman said. “The soldiers started searching some of the tunnels near the House, which interfered with business as usual. The rings and bosses are spooked, and the syndicates are pissed. On top of that, they obstructed Sir Armarandos’s investigation into Hoyt—which is so, so suspicious. Adrastos doubts they are following an official order, because he says it doesn’t sound like a Lord’s Council or Second Council act. If they need to mess with the underground, they do it quietly so it doesn’t become a scandal in Dentheria. Think about it. Protecting an underboss who attempted to blow up part of the capital city when more and more Dentherion noble families are vacationing here? That’s a huge outrage waiting to blow up.”
“The Blue Council just learned that the skyshroud isn’t being led by a commander, but a Second Councillor’s son,” a man said. “No one knows why he’s here, and some of the palace stuff the Dentherions poked their noses into isn’t related to empire and vassal state relations.”
“Scand and Rin heard something about that,” Lapis said, struggling to remain awake.
“Yeah, them palace regs ‘r upset,” the rat agreed. “Seems the ones from the skyshroud made pests of themselves, ‘n some ‘r sayin’ them palace guards told the rebels ‘bout the raid, ‘cause of it. Them ‘n the city guards ‘r real unhappy, so I c’n see it.”
“Something to play with,” the woman tending her shoulder murmured. “Tearlach, please see if the boiling water is ready.”
Scurrying sounds, and Gabby fell to her knees right before her nose. “Lady,” she sobbed, reaching for her. Tears shined her cheeks. She struggled to lift her arm and cup the rat’s face.
“What’s up, Gabby?”
She grabbed her fingers and squeezed tight. “I found Brander. I’m supposed to go report to Faelan, but—but I had to see you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I didn’t say I felt fine. I said I will be fine. Are you OK with doing something for Brander?” She disliked further involving the rats, but, she supposed, that regret came far too late.
“Of course.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “It’s pretty close, really. Lady, we’re still looking out for Dentherion soldiers, but there’re patrols now. They’re harassing everyone.”
If a soldier had no care whether he poisoned a three-year-old, Dentherions would have even less compunction in going after street rats. “Tell Phialla that the others need to get to their cubbies or come here,” she whispered. “Do you know, if the rats with the rebel kids made it to where I sent them?”
“I think so. The Dentherions haven’t caught anyone, anyway. They aren’t paying attention to us street rats in that way. Sure, they’re grumbling and they’ll swipe at us if we get close, but they think we’re too dirty to chase.” The annoyed disgust in Gabby’s tone made her smile.
“An advantage.”
Rin squatted behind her, slipped his arms about Gabby’s shoulders and hugged her. “She’ll be fine,” he told her. “I’s makin’ sure of it.”
“But my mama said that, before she died.” She snuffled, gulped for air, and refused to let go of her fingers. “I held her hand, and she went cold. You can’t go cold, Lady. You can’t.”
Lapis had no strength to bury the tears. “Gabby, I have help. I’m not . . . I’m not going to go cold.”
Rin settled his head on top of hers and rocked her. “She’s gonna have a real doctor look at ‘er.”
“She will,” the woman at her shoulder said. “True, she isn’t going to feel very good for a while. But she isn’t going to die.”
The rat’s distrust stabbed Lapis. “Go report to my brother,” she whispered. “Patch is bringing extra help. I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”
She tore herself away from Rin and ran out the door, huffing hard.
Lapis knew empty promises. She knew her father’s soft voice, vowing to protect her from the rigors of the world as he cuddled with her on the porch swing. She knew her mother’s warm laughter at her childish fears of the dark, and once savored the commitment she made to light the nightmares with love. She knew her brother’s quieter amusement at her insecurities and his pledge that, when she most needed him, he would be there for her.
They all lied. Her parents died under Kale’s blade and her brother abandoned her, however involuntary. She spent the last eight years living under the weight of those unkept promises, scrambling to honor memories of her fallen family but knowing her own vows might prove as dead and dishonorable.
Dead words. She did not want to speak dead words to Gabby, to Rin. They deserved better than desperate but futile promises. Those tore the soul apart, leaving the dried remains to crumble into dust.
“I meant it, Lady.” Rin sat, crossed his legs, and settled his arms on the edge of the mattress, planting his chin on top of them. “I’s stayin’ and I’ll annoy you until you really want to go to the Pit, ‘cause that’s where you’d get some peace.”
“That’s . . . not reassuring.”
“Nope. ‘Supposed t’ be annoying. That’s why I’m the Lady’s man.”
“Don’t . . . don’t speak dead promises.”
“Lady.” He leaned back and took her hand—Gabby had dropped it and she could not lift it back onto the bed—and held it to his chest. “That night, Lady. I thought I’s gonna die, with them guttershanks. I’s not the only one they took, but I’s the pretty boy. I thought, I’d take ‘m out, afore they did somethin’ nasty t’ me, ‘n if they killed me, I’d be free of ‘m. I didn’t think no one cared what happened, so me dyin’ didn’t matter. Them shanks didn’t think no one cared, neither. I’s a bitty rat, no one t’ miss me, ‘n the monsters had me. But you did. You thought I’s important. Them’s bein’ scary shanks, ‘n you still came to rescue me. You didn’t care they might hurt you, too. You came ‘n got me, and you took care of me. You didn’t . . .” He swallowed, hard. “You coulda run, when you saw—”
“No.” The blood ran in streams down the grout, draining from guttershanks too greedy to care about the humanity of one street rat. They paid a final price to berserker rage, for their failure. “You’d never attack me.”
“Was a close thing. I’s thinkin’ them all’s foes.”
“You’d never . . . hurt me, Rin. Never.”
“Then you’s got t’ never hurt me, in return.”
“Hurt . . . you?” Attempting a full breath sent streaming pain through her back and chest.
“Means you can’t die, Lady. Not ‘til yer more like seventy ‘r eighty. Gotsta be in a rocker ‘n drinkin’ tea.”
On whose porch? “Rocker?”
“Yeah, you know. Like them elders who sits ‘long the river, all sippin’ tea ‘n starin’ down they’s noses at all the boats.”
That was his idea of retirement? They needed to have a little talk. Later. ‘Bout boats. ‘N rockers. Tea was OK. It was warm. Nice and warm.
“Lady? LADY!”
