She wandered to Brone’s square, keeping an eye open for Gabby and Scand. She did not see them, and paused by the rat’s rug. Only a few bits rested within his bowl; he, by far, made the most legally of any reading circle rat, and for him to have a dull day meant the rest suffered worse. He stopped drumming and stretched, resigned.

“Pretty sparse,” she said.

“Yeah. No one’s in a generous mood. Rin and Scand haven’t even managed more than a few bits. We heard they told tourists to stick to the eastern shore for now, so no one with money’s around.”

Figured.

Gabby caught her eye, though Lapis did not see Baldur anywhere. The sober girl held the hand of a well-dressed, puffy-faced boy approximately her age, and her stomach fell. Another child thrown into the street after their parents died. Brone looked over his shoulder and sighed.

“Lady,” Gabby said as she squeezed the hand of the lad with her. He looked up, snuffling; his bright brown eyes were red, his nose swollen. His dark blond tresses were tangled, and smears of dust crossed his forehead. “This is Jerin. He was at a boarding school, and when they found out his mother died, they kicked him out. He doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

She smiled warmly at him, her heart racing too fast. Jerin. Jerin was a name that appeared often in Danaea’s notes. She met Jerin here, she met him there . . . Lapis thought he was a shank love interest, perhaps associate. Instead, he was her child. Guilt smashed her, and tears pricked her eyes. Dammit.

“Do you have anything with you, Jerin?” she asked.

He shook his head. “They didn’t let me take anything with me,” he whispered. “They said I had to pay the remaining boarding fee.”

That would change. Patch and Rin could retrieve the items for him. “Alright. When did this happen?”

“Yesterday,” he said. “They took me from class and told me. They said I couldn’t stay. I . . . I don’t know why. They escorted me off the grounds and closed the gate. They wouldn’t let me talk to any of my friends. I don’t know what to do. Some street sellers told me to come here, so I did.”

“He was wandering around the Lells, and none of us knew him, so we inquired as to why he’s here,” Gabby told her. She saluted sharply. “Knight Gabrielda is helping a man in need.”

“Thank you, sir knight. Well, Jerin, we’re here to help. Do you have any other relations in the city?” She assumed the answer was no.

He shook his head. “It was always me and Mama. I can’t . . . I can’t believe she’s dead. She . . . she . . .”

Lapis drew him close, and he buried his head in her chest and sobbed. Gabby settled her hand on his back, tears in her eyes. After her mother’s death, their unfeeling landlord tossed her into the street with only the clothes on her back, so she understood his struggles on an intimate level.

“Which boarding school?” Lapis asked, though she had a good idea. Danaea mentioned it once or twice, and while she wondered why the woman referenced a high-end academy in the Meadows, she assumed it had something to do with a stake.

“Willington’s.”

“On it.”

She glanced at Lykas, who stood with Brone, a queer and angry light in his eyes, and nodded. “It would be a shame, to go a little overboard.”

They grinned at that. She never explicitly asked them to complete dangerous retaliatory thefts, but she wanted the unfeeling asses at the school to feel a slight bite. “I’ll get to the Lells Guardhouse and fill out the stake. Grab Rin, preferably Patch, before you do anything, understand?”

“Oh oh let me go to the guardhouse!” Gabby said, brightening as she jumped up and down. “I can do it! Sir Armarandos showed me how to fill out the papers!”

Lapis blinked. He had? “Alright. Take Brone with you. And make sure they know I’m the one with the funds.” She did not think Patch would mind, dishing out a few bits for this one.

Brone brightened, too.

Jerin turned and watched the rats vacate, snuffling and rubbing at his face with his fist. Lapis kept a comforting hand on his back. She knew how difficult the transition was, from sheltered kid to street rat, and smoothing his way would help keep him from falling into the bitterness and pain that led to drink and drugs.

His stomach rumbled, loudly, as Varr strolled up, drumming his thick fingers on his belt. Jerin froze, but Lapis did not give him time to bolt.

“Varr, this is Jerin. The boarding school he attended found out his mother died and kicked him out.”

Varr raised a lip as Nerik and Jandra came to stand with them, both sympathetic. “It never ceases, the cruelty of the human creature,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Do you have a place to go, lad?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have any family other than Mama, and I wasn’t able to tell any of my friends.”

“Do you know any of their families?”

“I’ve only met their parents once or twice. Fallora’s father is a goldsmith, and Novin’s family owns a winery. They . . . well, they don’t like their children very much, and I don’t think they like their children’s friends, either.”

He understood, that wealthier merchant types would not take in an orphan, but it would be a nice thing, to be proven wrong. “Well, I’ll see what I can do on that end. In the meantime, the reading circle will help get you settled.”

He snuffled. “Reading circle?” he asked with a frown. “I’ve heard of that. Are you Lady Lanth?”

“I am,” she told him. “Gabby’s part of it, so is Brone. Nerik and Jandra are members by extension.” She wanted to laugh at Nerik’s squinty rebuke of the claim. He had shown up more frequently since Patch made his Eaves’ debut, and she doubted he would miss an opportunity to be in the presence of his idol because she mentioned it.

“I always thought that was nice,” Jerin told her. “To help others to read.”

“Since you went to Willington’s, you probably read well.”

“I do.”

“So if you want to drop by some night, you’re welcome to do so. The older kids are slogging through some Arturo knight books.”

He looked skeptical. That was fine. He would learn.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday, at lunch.”

She had not brought bits with her and glanced at Varr. “Pay you back.”

He huffed. “No need.”

No need, perhaps, but she would do so. He sprinkled enough for food and supplies into her palm, and she marveled at the brightness, the rainbow gleam, of the money. Most of the bits that made it to the Grey and Stone Streets had seen far better, cleaner days. “Jerin, I have to meet with someone right now.” She nodded towards Nerik and Jandra. “Nerik and Jandra are going to help. Since you don’t have anything with you, they’re going to get you some food, then help you decide what you need for the first few nights.” She hugged him. “It isn’t easy, and I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I’m sorry I’m not going to be there for a little while.”

“You’re helping me.” He did not look as if he knew what to do about that.

“Yeah. I want to help mitigate the hardship. And it’s hard, going from nice home to dirty street. You have no idea what to do, where to go, who to even ask for help. Everyone’s a stranger, as apt to harm you as aid you. It’s why the Lells rats, when they see another kid who’s in need, offer to help. Most of them have been through the same thing, so they know what it’s like.”

“But . . . I’m not a street rat.”

“I said the same thing, when my family died in a fire and I ended up on the street.” His startlement made her wonder what the school told their students about kids and the street. The underlying snobbiness in his tone hinted at an unfavorable view, one that would end up harming him, if he continued to hold it. “And while I hope we can find someone to take you in, it might take a few days. Settle in, and I’ll do what I can after my meeting.” She patted his arm in comfort, but he looked lost, and her hate for the boarding school and their cruelty solidified. Considering the wealth flowing into the institution, they could have offered him funding to complete his schooling. They chose not to.

She gave the funds to Jandra, who radiated a sympathetic warmth that put him at ease, squeezed Nerik on the shoulder, and firmed her resolve.

If meeting Baldur proceeded in the same vein, she was in serious trouble.

Varr studied the ground absently as they stood against a dirty stone wall shaded by a short awning, watching as a furious Baldur ranted and raved at one of the poor Lells sellers. She looked to bap him on the head with one of her pots, but Lapis decided she withheld because it was obvious something had devastated the man, and she did not want to add to the trouble.

“Danaea, huh?” He shook his head. “Jetta’s going to take that hard.”

“She was a terrible person,” Lapis said. “Just because she had a child, doesn’t mean she wasn’t. I’ve read her notes and papers. She gloated about her casual cruelty and the pain she caused. That isn’t outweighed by loving her son. And she did love him. She mentioned him often enough, I thought he was a love interest, or maybe a partner. In any case, she cared about him because she bought him an education at a reputable place.”

“Reputable?”

“Willington’s has a reputation of only accepting the brightest. If he was there, he’s smart. I need to ask him what exams he passed. It won’t surprise me, if he’s advanced far beyond his age level.”

“It’s a kindness, to help him, Lapis.”

“I’ve lived it,” she reminded him. “If Patch hadn’t found me when he did, I’d be dead. If I can save even one kid from the dangers of the streets until they can better handle them, I’ll put myself in a pauper’s hut to do it.”

“Dachs will never stand for that.”

“You know him well?”

“Pretty well. He was a valuable member of Rilsen’s team, the one Jetta inherited. He always planned to retire and open the Eaves once he had the money, but his sympathy’s always been, and always will be, with us.” He eyed her. “And do you really think, Patch would let you do something like that?”

“ . . . No.”

“Or Faelan?”

“ . . . . . . No.”

She refused to imagine their chagrin if she ever tried.

“Midir’s quietly looking into the orphanages in Jiy.” He was? “He’s shocked at the number of street kids, and wants to know why they’ve been abandoned. Gall and greed are the reasons. He’s implemented some regulations that keep the poorer kids from ever receiving help in Jilvayna.”

“Orphanages in Jiy don’t accept kids unless someone’s paying their room and board.”

Varr sighed. “Yes, but there’s more to it. A child must have a guardian, and that guardian must be a relative. That relative must pay their room and board because it’s illegal for anyone else to support the child, including the state. That regulation allows them to eliminate funding to institutions that house children. Not a bit goes to their upkeep. If an orphanage wants to stay in business, it needs the guardians to pay the living expenses, on top of whatever extraneous donations it can muster for building repair and staff salary. Even if people with money wanted to help, they’d have to do it under the table or experience hefty fines. It’s enough of a disincentive nobles and merchants don’t bother.”

“I haven’t heard of this. I always thought it was purposeful cruelty and greed on the owner’s part.”

“The city council implemented it slowly and quietly over the last twenty years or so. At this point, the kids with relations live in something resembling a home, and those without are kicked into the streets to fend for themselves. Gall doesn’t want to pay for childcare because he’s siphoning those resources into something else. What he’s using the funds for, we don’t know yet.”

“So none of the rats could ever get into an orphanage.”

“Not unless they have a relative who’s willing to pay for them to live there. It means Jerin, even if one of his friend’s family takes him in, wouldn’t be able to return to Willington’s. He’d need a relative to pay for the room and board, and he doesn’t have one.”

Fury slammed into her. The palace made certain that the downtrodden stayed there. She tried to tamp it down; she needed calm when facing the Jiy House headman.

Baldur finally noticed them. He huffled over, faster than she assumed he could move, and almost bowled into her. His flunkies proved more hesitant, their attention on Varr. It annoyed her, they did not think her dangerous, considering how she nearly cut Perben’s life away in front of them.

“Lapis,” he gritted, his fingers clenching, hard.

“Talked to Whitley earlier,” she said. He flinched and she smiled. How odd, to be the one in charge of their conversation. She imagined that he realized it, too, and despised it.  “How many people died protecting Vivina?”

“I need to talk to Patch.”

No answer, eh? Too many, then. “And she couldn’t be bothered to go into hiding? Did one of those balls she bragged about prove too alluring to miss?”

“Lapis,” he warned, in the tone he typically took with her, then tumbled back into one of his guards, raising a hand to his chest, eyes bulging, breathing harshly.

“You don’t talk to Lapis like that,” Varr said in a peevish rumble. “Ever.”

Their nervousness made her smile. As a child, she never appreciated his sternness, but now, she enjoyed the unease it instilled. “I’ll tell Patch what’s going on. He’ll decide what he wants to do. Stay at the House until he shows up to talk to you. It’s probably not going to be that long, and he’s probably going to help because Vivina knows enough about the rebellion, she’s a liability. And you know it, too.” She popped from the wall. “Let’s get one thing clear, Baldur. You’re used to intimidating the rebels, but these are the Grey Streets. You harass the rats again, you won’t like the results.” She shoved her face into his, nearly choking on the stench of his perfume combined with rancid body sweat. He reared back, lips pulled down in disgust. “Losing a purse at the Lells will pale in comparison.” She dangled the pouch from its string, swinging it back and forth. “And yes, the rats have long memories. They won’t forget you being an ass.” She stepped back. “Neither will I.”

“Dentherions, to the left,” Varr said.

Wonderful.

Baldur paled as two soldiers, dressed in black uniforms with rank insignia and no helmet, hustled up, intent on their little party. Grunts without authority, and she did not notice tech weapons, but she doubted they had visited the Lells unarmed.

“You, there, what are you doing?” one called, pointing an imperious finger at her.

She weighed the silver in her palm and regarded them with as much aplomb as she could muster. If the two made Varr angry, they would not leave the market on their own two feet, so she felt she had a bit of play room. “Serving a stake,” she said.

The two eyed them suspiciously as they came to a stop, too near Baldur for his peace of mind. Sweat beaded on his brow and rolled into his embroidered collar; no better way than to scream your guilt than that. “That’s done at a guardhouse.”

Lapis laughed. “Sometimes,” she agreed. “Sometimes there’s extra pay that needs sorting out. Unexpected costs crop up.”

“And you are?” the second asked, hostile and angry.

“Lady Lanth.”

They reared back. Oh, good. She had no illusions her reputation preceded her, but Patch’s certainly did. Had it made an impression on the skyshroud, his five metgal stake? Their eyes flicked to Varr, and he grinned, wide and evilly.

Did he really wish to pretend to be Patch?

“You’re Patch.” A man who swallowed a venomous snake alive and whole sounded more confident.

He laughed, jolliness filled with malice. “No. He’s my apprentice.”

That attracted a lot more stares from merchants busily pretending they were not listening.

Baldur inched away as the Dentherions focused on the larger, stronger man. Their skepticism mingled with anger made her wary; she trusted them less than a shank with a knife. Of course, if they concentrated on someone other than the headman, and he wisely retreated, all the better. She had no illusions how quickly he would give up the rebel cause under the minutest amount of threat.

“I decided to join the Lady, as the Lells is unsafe,” he continued. He flicked his gaze up and down, making certain they understood who, exactly, made it so, and how unimpressed he was with their bravado. “And now that our business is complete, we’ll be on our way.”

The first one straightened and opened his mouth; she knew the words that tumbled forth would provoke Varr, because he possessed that puffed-up, clown-will-speak-his-mind anger. She had witnessed it directed at the bodyguard before, and it always came from younger, obtuse men searching for a way to prove themselves to someone or other. He would take them out in one hit and wander off, annoyed and grumbly.

“Ah, Varr. I had not thought you’d be here.”

The two soldiers stiffened and whirled. Midir approached, carrying a young girl of six or seven dressed in a purple frock, accompanied by a lovely woman in flowing skirts who held a bright and beautiful baby, Jarosa, the Dentherion contact Imaralis, and a scattering of guards. Sir Armarandos, Lord Adrastos and an older woman of kind countenance brought up the rear. The look the knight gifted the Dentherions did not bode well for their future as Lells annoyances.

They hastened away when he jerked his chin, resentment thinning their lips and widening their nostrils.

“Varr, Varr!” the little girl said. She leaped from Midir’s embrace and ran to the bodyguard, wrapping her skinny arms about his thick leg.

“Hey sweetie,” he said, warmth filling his tone. He patted her on the back, beaming.

“She was worried about you,” the woman said with a smile, then her gaze traveled to Lapis. She sucked in a breath, and the sheen of tears brightened her sky-blue eyes. “You must be Lanth,” she said. “You do look so like Iolanthe.”

Lapis bowed; she suspected the woman to be Midir’s wife, but she did not recall her from her childhood. She must not have visited Nicodem, at least after she became old enough to recognize and understand party guests. “I am,” she said quietly.

“Melanthe, this is Elysia, my love.” Midir smiled at the woman, not with the typical noble look of luke-warm tolerance, but true joy. How wonderful, he had found someone he adored. “Our daughter, Iole, and our son, Phaeton.”

Named after her parents. She had no want for kids, and Faelan never showed an interest, so it was a wonderful gesture, for him to honor them so.

“Hello,” Iole said politely. Lapis smiled and bowed her head; it felt awkward, to give much more respect to a young child so openly in the Lells. Varr laughed and smoothed her hair.

“She’s usually a bit more outspoken,” he said. She squinted up at him while both her parents agreed. “Aren’t you, sweetie?”

“She’s shy with those she doesn’t know,” Jarosa said. “But once she does, she will talk until the sun sets. I think she even talks in her sleep.”

“I do not!” the little girl protested. “But I do like to talk when I’m awake.”

“What brings you to the Lells?” Lapis asked. With the Dentherions on patrol, she did not trust Midir’s safety—but perhaps that was why Sir Armarandos and Lord Adrastos accompanied them.

“We’re on our way to The Cottage,” Elysia replied. “Lord Adrastos claims they make the best meal found in all of Jiy.”

The Cottage was an intimate dining experience, with food from Ramira and the countries north of it, to Navellas. It had exceptional meals, though she doubted it exceeded some of the decadent establishments that catered to the nobility. “I’ve eaten there once. It’s very good. The cake is extraordinary.”

Sir Armarandos laughed at that. “It is what draws my parents,” he said.

The older woman raised an eyebrow. “I do like the cake,” she admitted. She smiled warmly. “I’m Nerine, since my thoughtless husband did not introduce us.”

Lord Adrastos blinked, then ran a hand through his white hair, sheepish. “I guess you haven’t met her, have you?”

“No,” she said, smiling with amused acceptance at his forgetfulness. “Elysia is correct. You look like your mother. She was such a beautiful woman, with an elegance and charm difficult to match.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t inherited those parts of her.”

“You do yourself a disservice,” Varr said.

Not really.

“You should join us,” Nerine said. “I’d love to know you better!”

Lapis smiled. “Thank you, but I—” She trailed off, then hopped past the group. “What happened?”

Miyomon rarely sought her out, but he hustled to her with a frantic purpose, the ratty bag with his merchandise banging hard against his hip. She had gifted him his first threads four years ago, to knot into wondrous ornaments that caught many a tourist’s eye. He made enough to enhance his art with bright beads and sparkly gems, and she had no doubt, when he aged out of being a rat, he would have enough saved to put up a nice little stall that attracted tourists.

His grey eyes flicked through the group, landed on Sir Armarandos, and stuttered to a halt. “Lady, Sir Armarandos!” he gasped. “There’s trouble. There’re some guys wearing black berets askin’ questions. They’re wantin’ Hoyt’s people, and they’re tryin’ to drag some of the rats into the back alleys to have a talk.” He looked pleadingly at her. “The Dentherions cleared the city guard away before they arrived, so there’s no one else who’s around to help. Lady, no one wants to end up like Miki.”

“Black hats?” Jarosa asked, her eyes glinting. “Did you see any badges or rank symbols?”

He paused, and Lapis realized he trembled. “Yeah. Somethin’ stitched in black thread on their berets. A V.”

“Well, it looks like a meal at the Cottage must wait,” Sir Armarandos said, as serious as she had seen him. He bowed to Midir, who nodded—and who also looked very serious.

“I’m coming with you,” Jarosa said.

“With all due respect—”

Jarosa raised an eyebrow. He took a very large, clearing breath and turned to Miyomon. A wise man knew, never to verbally tussel with the Ramiran rebel. “Which square?”

“Mimstone.”

The one with Phialla and Ness. “Is everyone vacating?” she asked.

“They’re trying. Rin’s not around, but some of the other, older rats are helping.”

“Stay with us, lad,” Lord Adrastos offered. “Let my son handle things.”

Miyomon looked at her, stressed; she smiled. “You can trust them,” she told him. “I promise. They’re going to the Cottage for a bite. Don’t miss that opportunity.” She hugged his shoulders before racing to the square. If Jarosa reacted to the mention of black hats, something was terribly wrong, and she needed to help the rats. If anything happened to Phialla and Ness . . .