Revenge. Regret. Release.

Lapis sat on the sodden roof overlooking the Night Market and her stake’s apartment, head tipped to the rain, attempting to push her feelings into the cold drops so they could rush away in a torrent of water and leave her an empty shell. She wanted to drown in nothing, to wallow in dark numbness, to forget.

She had failed.

She missed her mark, missed putting Perben out of everyone’s misery, leaving her promise of vengeance shattered on the floor of the Jiy Rebel House. She had missed, and now his supporters rose in force to defend him while shredding her history, her person. If they freed him . . .

She gasped and struggled to suck in the chill air, her tears a streak of warmth against her frozen cheeks. She was so afraid her vows to her family would come to naught, that the disingenuous swine who called themselves loyal rebels would free him and leave everyone she cared for a target of his retaliation.

Perben’s allies insisted his angelic and gentle nature reflected his true self, and she was the vicious, deceitful one; after all, she attacked him at the breakfast table. Who besides a hellion did that?

As if beheading Miki had not prompted it.

She clenched her hands, hard enough they ached. She had not trained for eight years, to have her righteous revenge sidelined by crass misogyny and ambition-inspired hate. No puffy, deluded noble would destroy her dearest dreams and promises; she would continue to wait for the opportunity to carry her vengeance to Perben and anyone who thought him worthy. If they blindly followed the traitor because it felt comfortable, she would make certain their final moments held all the love and compassion Kale showed the mutilated bodies of her family and best friend.

“Lapis.”

She did not respond, so Patch dumped himself next to her on the crates. He dribbled water across the wooden surface, which soaked into her cloak and rump. He flipped back his sodden blond hair, unconcerned at the water he sprayed about.

“Patch—”

“Hmm?”

When in her company, her partner smiled and joked with her, retaining a mild disposition and soft touch when she needed comfort and care. That had been conspicuously absent the past three days despite her desperate craving for it, as he navigated the Blue Council hatred of her revelation. He sent notes, a buoy for her, but they did not equal his presence.

He slipped an arm about her and drew her close, absently staring at the short railing that lined the roof as his fingers drew circles against her shoulder. Raindrops hammered the metal, casting smaller drops in all directions and covering everything under the black tarp in a fine mist.

“You’re cold,” he intimated. “Rin said you came up here after Brander delivered my note, hours ago.”

She shrugged and bowed her head over her knees, her hands clenching tightly. Rin should have kept his mouth shut. Did he not have enough to do wrangling the reading circle rats into a semblance of enthused reading group that night?

“Freezing isn’t going to help.”

“I’m on a chase.”

He sternly regarded her, his sky blue gaze unyielding. “A chase? The guy smuggling tech in coffins? He isn’t coming out in this weather, and you know it.” He rocketed to his feet and held out his hand. She glared at it, then reluctantly accepted the help. He yanked her up fast enough, her numb legs could not stand; he held her until she regained her balance, arms tight, a rock for her to lean on. She buried her face in his chest, enjoying the heat radiating from it despite her annoyance, then slipped her hand into his warm one. He led her away from the darkness, the cold rain and bitter, devastating memories.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as they climbed down the towering shade tree that filled the building’s corner and to the muddy, unlit alley below.

She remained silent, jumping the remaining way and shaking out her cloak as he plopped to the ground next to her. He held out his hand; she blew her breath through her nose and even more reluctantly accepted it. His amusement annoyed her, which shattered when he softly kissed the back of her fingers. He gathered her in a gentle embrace, his lips pressed against her forehead.

“We can grab something at the Night Market and head to the Eaves.”

She nodded, unenthused at the prospect, but knew he would not accept her rejection. They walked across the street to the large, black brick warehouse, and her tummy rumbled as they neared the awnings, triggered by the scent of warm, delicious food. That night the delicate smell of bread permeated the place, accompanied by the sharper odor of hot spices and fried meat. Her mind did not wish to eat, but her body demanded she override it. Immediately.

Street rats were there in force, though the patronage from whom they normally accepted meals remained sparse. At least the Night Market allowed them to rest along the back walls on the colder nights, as long as they kept to themselves. She did not notice members of her reading circle, and wondered how many of them had abandoned their cubbies for the warmer interior of the Eaves.

She noted Heran and Nilas sitting together with a smattering of other, older rats, huddled under a ratty blanket in the dimmest of corners. Nilas had found Miki’s body, and struggled with what he had seen, what he continued to feel. Copper, a street rat turned guard, helped, providing a solid grounding of empathy he could rage and cry at. Heran had withdrawn from everybody but Nilas. The reading circle rats said that she cried at odd moments, refused all sympathy and aid, and hid. They wanted to help her and had no idea what to do. Rin’s frustration at his inability to speak with her made him snappy and moody.

Lapis had no bits of wisdom to provide, and Copper was at a loss. The Lells merchants offered advice, but nothing they suggested penetrated Heran’s shell. The urge to walk over and ask after her warred with the knowledge that rats, when stubborn about something, could do the exact opposite just to spite the person offering assistance. She did not think any words from her would help, and perhaps make the situation worse, so she stayed away. Given time, the pain would recede though never disappear, and the teen would rejoin life, less enthusiastic, a lot more suspicious. She knew that, too intimately.

Patch chose Red’s Fried and Fresh, a popular stall that served seared meats seasoned with several tantalizing spices. Red’s employees believed that the spicier the food, the better, though they had offerings for those fainter of stomach. They planted themselves at the back of the long line that wrapped through the dining tables, and Lapis resigned herself to the wait. Why not chose a booth with fewer customers? While she normally enjoyed the Night Market’s dark and smoky atmosphere, she did not want to be around people having a good time. She wanted to return to her room, sit on her bed, and stare at the wooden floor.

“I’m giving up the apartment in the Kells.”

Lapis glanced up as Patch smoothed his hair back, water streaming down his cheeks and neck. He hated his landlord, hated the complex, hated his neighbors, and now that the throne had decided to crack down on traffic into and out of the district due to the brewing war between syndicates, there seemed no reason to stay.

“Where are you thinking of moving?”

She barely heard the low rumble of laughter. “The Eaves. If you’ll have me.”

She stared, for a different reason. Patch enjoyed time alone, the epitome of aloof chaser. She understood the need, and when he first began to chase the more dangerous stakes, she knew he believed separate housing outside the rebel House necessary for her safety. What had changed his mind?

He slipped his arm around her and drew her close. How did he manage to remain so warm on so chilly a night? “Well, that proves I was a fool.”

“What?”

“Your shock, that I would think about living with you.” He sighed and settled his forehead against hers. “I needed the time alone when we first moved here, but it’s been a long while since I wanted it. The rebellion and Ailis kept me too busy, but I’m going to pull back. The Jiy rebels don’t deserve the help I’ve provided, and I’d rather spend time with you than on another stake that pays their bills.”

Lapis did not think the majority of Jiy rebels understood that they lived in the mansion and had food on the table due to Patch’s work. The bulk of their salaries, room and board came from the monies he made in chasing the dangerous stakes and succeeding. Baldur certainly refused to spend anything on the typical rebel unless it benefitted him politically, preferring to shuffle the money Jiy rebels received from the Blue Council around until it landed in his own coffers rather than use it to pay for upkeep or prep the House for emergencies. The paltry jobs several people worked outside the rebellion could not support their families, let alone a grander swath of people.

“I never wanted to interfere.”

“And you didn’t.” He smoothed a long strand of damp hair from her face. “You understood and accepted my needs, and never complained. It may be, I’ll need time alone once in a while, but seclusion isn’t my answer anymore.” He smiled, a mischievous look. “If you’ll have me.”

She wrapped her arms around him and clutched him close. Their times together at the Jiy House were precious to her, and to have him at arms’ length more often than a few days a month excited her. A small bit of inner darkness brightened. “You know I want you with me.”

She had not realized his tenseness until his muscles relaxed. She frowned into his shoulder.

“Did you think I’d say no?”

“I haven’t been what you need me to be.”

“That’s not true. You’re my rock, and you’ve never turned away when I needed you.”

“Yes, but these past days, and I wasn’t here.”

She looked up at him. “You couldn’t have known everything that happened in advance.”

“I should have known that Hoyt was targeting you.”

“Have you talked to your contacts?”

“Yeah. No one knows whose ass he pulled the name Aethon from. The underground, like the guard, thinks Hoyt screwed up and named the wrong man as your partner in his hurry to target a phantom enemy. No one knows a chaser named Aethon that works in Jilvayna, and they’re mocking him for taking it seriously—especially now that everyone apparently knows we’re partners.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I never would have anticipated the obsessive interest. I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.”

“The Council’s nosing about, too.” His words, spoken in the softest whisper, did not hide the searing rage that filled them. “Meinrad and Rambart want to send for someone from Coriy to ask them if we really knew each other there.”

Lapis glanced at the floor as they moved another minute step. It made sense for them to degrade her, but Patch? “How badly did the meetings go today?”

He growled. She blinked at him, surprised at the reaction. “The rebellion, as it stands, isn’t worth saving. Midir and Faelan know it, too. They’re trying to resuscitate a corpse they haven’t pulled from the river yet. When they do, it’ll still be unquestioningly dead.”

Patch had joined the rebellion for revenge on King Gall. He wanted it to succeed because he wanted to take the Dentherion puppet ruler out. That he believed it beyond saving worried her, because he would find another way to vengeance, outside the confines of rebel rules.

He took a deep breath, as cleansing as the ones she had indulged in all evening, and murmured into her hair. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. They’re going to demand you go to one eventually, when they think they have enough evidence against you to counter your testimony. Meinrad already told me I can’t be there when they summon you. I told him that his trust in a traitor makes him a danger, and I’d never let you take the risk alone.” His low chuckle was as dark as the atmosphere outside. “He was quite upset I didn’t bother to say nice things while in gentle company.”

If Meinrad knew anything about Patch, his disrespect for authority should rank number one.

They reached the counter in time to catch the mixture of shock and wide smiles from the employees. The woman they ordered from, Risa, beamed at them. “Heard you’s t’gether,” she intimated happily. “Been talk from the Eaves regs ‘bout it. Never’d guess, you two’d know each other!”

Patch remained polite during their order, but Lapis knew he, like she, hoped the shock at the revelation died quickly. He hated overt attention, and the numbers of people who suddenly thought themselves buddy-buddy with him because of his connection to her annoyed him. He was a dangerous chaser, not a Grey Streets gossip friend.

Lapis returned Risa’s bubbly smile as she handed Patch the small piece of paper with their food number on it, despite her desire to sigh. They headed to the crowded area where people milled about, chatting and waiting for their order, and sequestered themselves in the dimly lit outskirts. Numerous customers eyed them speculatively, then turned to their friends and urgently whispered to them. She had not realized she had pressed herself so close to him, uneasy at the attention, until he slipped his arm around her again, his hold tight.

A crash to the right alerted Lapis; a woman, with shoulder-length brown hair peeking from her hood, soft doe-eyes and warm, light bronze skin, had tripped over a chair, which a customer had just jettisoned back so they could rise. She tangled with it and fell, shoving the diner forward and into the table, which jarred the food and sloshed the drinks over the rims of the glasses. The long, thin, shiny silver thing she held flew from her fingertips and skidded across the floor. One of the men waiting for food accidentally kicked it, sending it under Red’s counter.

The diner and her companion snapped at her, but the woman ignored them as she righted herself and staggered to her feet, her attention on Patch. Lapis glanced at him; he had dead eyes, a look she never transgressed because he only used it when he felt threatened and expected to fight.

“Patch,” the woman said, coming to an awkward halt in front of them. “We need to talk.” She huffed as if out of breath, and her cheeks reddened.

“Do we, Danaea?”

Lapis started as the crowd about them gasped and moved away, unwilling to become involved in a chaser spat. The customers she inconvenienced grabbed their meals and fled. Danaea nervously glanced about, uncomfortable at the attention, but did not leave despite his frosty outing of her identity.

The woman had a reputation for assassinating men in the throes of passion with her, and she had completed several dangerous stakes on men who worked for the syndicates and rings by tricking them into bed. Lapis wondered how she managed it; unless she wore an actor’s worth of makeup and wigs, she did not have the looks to enrapture important and deadly men who believed sex with a beautiful woman was their due.

“Y-yes, we do. In private.” Her eyes flicked to Red’s counter. The staff appeared oblivious to the silver item’s presence, so they had probably already booted it into a secluded niche or corner, effectively losing it.

“Like that’s ever a good idea with you.” He narrowed his eye, and she swallowed. “I thought I told you to stop using my name in vain with the guard. Why didn’t you?”

“I . . . we’re partners.” Her voice strained against stronger emotions, sending it higher.

“That’s always been a lie,” he said. “And it will always be a lie. Go find some other sap to stick your name onto.”

She stood awkwardly, as if she had no idea how to proceed. She obviously did not know Patch well, to think he would have hushed her, embarrassed, and scurried into a corner with her to talk in semi-secret. No, he enjoyed loudly and blatantly calling people out, no matter the place. Her gaze focused on Lapis, and a small, evil smile lit her lips. “She’s staked. Once she’s gone, you’ll come back to me.”

“Kinda hard to return to a place I’ve never been. Besides, Hoyt’s not around to pay,” Patch said dismissively.

“Hoyt?” Danaea laughed. “No. This one’s above ground, sweetie. No Hoyt involvement at all, though I’m certain he’ll be pleased to be rid of her.”

Lapis’s stomach twisted and cold dread raced through her as she fought the rise of acid. She was staked by someone else? Who? Those fucks supporting Perben?

“You should be more concerned about your own head.” Patch sounded carefully nonchalant; the revelation must have startled him as well. “Looks like the rebellion thinks you took out one of their leaders. A two-metgal reward. It came up yesterday. Combined with your other stakes, it’ll be a huge payout for whoever takes you down. I’m surprised you’re still in Jiy.”

Danaea’s smirk disappeared and she took a step back, her face wrinkling as if she smelled something nasty. “What?”

“Considering who you bump off for a living, you don’t check the understakes every day?” He laughed with forced disbelief. “Good luck. Chaser’s already tracking you, and they know we aren’t partners, so you can’t hide behind me. You’re going to have to have some real good info, if you want to save your head.”

Danaea’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged as she collected her thoughts. If someone like Patch had told Lapis that, she would have immediately run away—probably into the arms of those hunting her, but she would have run.

“So someone’s chasing me.”

“Yep. They’re not wiled by makeup and a tight dress or impressed with mediocre fighting ability.” He shrugged. “You can always get something to eat here and enjoy a last meal. They’ll probably allow that.”

Danaea did not believe him. The way she wobbled on her feet, her skeptical gaze . . . He turned away from her as their number was called and retrieved the food; idle others watched him, then flicked their gazes back to her, expecting a violent turn. Lapis tamped down on the thrill of terror. If the hunter attacked, she could draw her gauntlet blade fast enough, but she needed to keep the fight to the two of them, without endangering any observers.

Glaring, the woman shoved her shoulders back, then whirled and stormed away.

Patch returned just as Jetta slipped to them, granting her partner an unfriendly scowl. Lapis had not realized she was there, but her mind was not where it should be, either. She needed to pay more attention to her surroundings because Perben was not her only enemy.

“What?” he asked. “You looked bored. I decided to liven up your night.”

Jetta folded her arms.

She wore a dark, water-resistant cloak, fuzzy grey clothing that looked very warm, and thick-soled boots that would not slip on the wet roadways. Her long, black hair was tightly braided and hung over her shoulder, as if it had fallen out from her hood. She did not have an open weapon, but Lapis knew she had one somewhere, within easy reach.

She had not seen Jetta since her brother took a sword cut meant for her, and she tried to quell her intimidation. The woman had a fantastic reputation within the rebellion, moreso than Perben and his Rebel’s Devil bit. She was the one who cleaned up problems for rebel Houses throughout Jilvayna, and she could not recall her failing a mission. Jiy had Patch, so she had no reason to visit, but Lapis had always wished to meet her. She wanted to become a similar chaser, even if the thought of dangerous stakes made her quiver.

Patch gave the rebel his best mischievous grin.

Jetta looked at her. “Do you buy that?” she grumbled, pointing at his face. She shook her head, and Patch’s fake annoyance made the other woman chuckle. “Alright, Mr. Chaser. You’re buying me stuffed cheesy bread and NO SKIMPING on the cheese and spicy dipping sauce and a blacknut cookie. AND you’re going to pay for it out of your own pocket and cart it to the Eaves for me.”

Patch raised his eyebrow but did not protest, proving that he trusted her.

“Oh, and Faelan thought to stop by,” she said, leaning towards them. “He . . . needs a break.” Her seriousness made Lapis nervous. “Danaea was carrying a common assassin’s knife. She won’t have a second chance.” She straightened and beamed, clapping her hands together. “And I’ll get to know you better, Lanth!” she said. “I’m so excited to have a sister!”

She bounded happily away in a very unchaser-like manner. Lapis blinked after her, stunned at the abrupt change, then looked up at Patch, who eyed the menus for stuffed cheesy bread. “Sister?”

“She and Faelan are as devoted as any couple you’ve ever met. Under most other circumstances, they would have gone through some sort of marriage or binding ceremony. So she considers you her sister-in-law.” He cast her a quick and soft smile. “I know it’s hard to trust, Lanth, but Jetta’s a good person.”

“Do you know her well?”

“As well as anyone.” He sighed. “Who sells this bread shit again?” He glanced at her, intently sober. “After we get it, we need to hit the Night Market Guardhouse on the way home. I want to know what stake this is, that Danaea would come after you in a crowd to complete it.”