Creak.
Lapis frowned.
Creak.
She tried to roll over, but found herself stiff, unresponsive. The last time she felt so inflexible, Patch had taken her for a hard workout outside the city walls, pushing her until she almost screamed with weariness and pain.
Then he told her about the stake he wanted help with. He said her lack of amusement could have stopped a sour frog from croaking.
She moved her right arm; it banged against her side and she hissed at the dull ache. She winced and fought to settle her elbow far enough away to avoid contact, but she still could not quite roll over.
“Lady?”
She blinked, tried to focus, think past the mental numbness. Rinan jumped from a badly abused chair and fell to his knees at the side of the bed, his lips tight with worry. It rocked backward and nearly tipped, but clattered back into place.
“What . . .” Had she been sick?
He smiled, over-relieved. “You was hurt, Lady. Don’t remember?”
The overwhelming need to go to the bathroom usurped his words. She tried to look around, but her neck did not respond properly.
“Whatcha need?”
“Bath . . . room.”
“Uh.” Rin bit his lip, apologetic. “I’s the only one here, th’moment.”
“Only one?” Who else would be in her room?
“Patch—”
“Patch.”
“Yeah, he’s all over, right now. None too happy ‘bout it, neither. Lyet’s gettin’ some meds. Come on. Let’s get you up.”
Bothered she could not remember how she became sick or why Rin hovered, she managed a sitting position with his help. She slid her legs off the mattress, stood, and the rat caught her when she buckled. Embarrassment and lethargy rammed through her while he picked her up and carried her to the toilet.
Carried her. She doubted she could carry him. When had he gotten so strong?
She felt light, ethereal, as if she were one of the white puffs of flower that sailed with the wind, so insubstantial it did not fall to the ground until the breeze died. Did that explain how he managed to cart her about? He settled her down, and her shooing motions seemed to come from someone else. He stepped around the doorway, skeptical, but she needed to do this on her own.
When had she gotten a toilet in her room?
Her body would no longer be denied, and she could not quite sit up on her own. She planted her head and shoulder against the wall and fought tears while she rearranged. What had happened to her? Memory blackness terrified her.
How had she ended up like this? Why was Rin taking care of her?
“Lady?”
She groggily recognized Lyet and could not quite form a coherent thought as the teen jostled her about. Rin carried her back to her bed—no, not her bed. Not the narrow but comfortable furniture piled with thick, if worn, blue blankets. This one had the width to hold two people comfortably, and the browns of the bedding reflected the street rat’s taste, not hers.
The suite. Rin bartered for the suite. She remembered.
She sank into the softness with a sigh, embarrassed, depressed, unable to stop the tears. They ran from the corner of her eye, thin, too quick. She had not been so ill since childhood. Typical for her young self, but the worst happened when her curiosity about Vaar’s special gauntlet prompted her to sneak into his room and steal it. The bodyguard and his liege had enjoyed a midday meal with her parents, and she took the opportunity to whisk to the practice ring, strap it on, and punch the hay-filled dummy.
The special gauntlet reacted poorly to any who used it without permission. It clamped about her arm and refused to let go, pricking her flesh with multiple thin metal points. She had yanked and pleaded and cried, and finally removed the thing by tearing her flesh up. She dropped it in the dust and then slunk off to her room, trailing blood and knowing her punishment would be swift and severe.
It was. The points contained poison, meant for an adult. Faelan had come to read to her, and without his panicked rush for help, she probably would have died that night.
Vaar’s guilt eclipsed her vomiting and delirium; her shame and remorse over making him sad remained with her, and sometimes she still dreamed of his anxiety. A premonition of her current state, she supposed.
“You’s sick, Lady,” Rin said, over-gentle fingers wiping the tears from her rapidly chilling cheeks.
“Sick.”
“You’s poisoned. Not so bad, Lady Thais said, but you’s gonna be sick a while.”
Poisoned?
“You’s gonna be a little outta it. Somethin’ doin’ with the medicines Lady Thais gave you.”
She stared blankly at Rinan, trying to figure out who Lady Thais was. Anyone with ‘Lady’ as a title came from noble stock, and nobles rarely bothered with the Grey Streets and its residents in a helpful capacity.
Lyet crawled around to her back and prodded her to roll over, then poked at her shoulder and down her side. “She’s Patch’s aunt,” the teen said, her voice a soft and steady murmur. “She has access to a lot of medical equipment and medicine that even the rebels don’t have. Without her help, you would have been sicker, and for longer.”
“Sicker.”
Rin nodded, serious. “Both she ‘n Caitria said, that poison the Dentherion used, ‘twere dried and mostly impotent. Lucky, that.”
Lucky? Yes.
“We’s givin’ you all sortsa things in water—pourin’ down yer throat’s a mess.”
Lapis touched her throat automatically, feeling the chill skin and the remains of cold water. Lyet clicked her tongue and patted her shoulder before helping her into a more comfortable position.
“Why am I in the suite?”
“It’s bigger,” Rin told her proudly. “Gives Lady Thais room t’ move about. Somma her stuff’s bulky ‘n takes lots of space. Gotta know, didn’t think it’d be a sickroom ‘n all, but that’s fine.”
“Thank you.”
“I’s the Lady’s man,” he responded. “But look!” he jumped to his feet and pressed at the wall that should have led to the room next door, one occupied by a sweet older woman who never complained about the ruckus the rats made. Instead, a dark space met her eye. “Leads t’ the basement,” he told her. “Them Minq had this place afore, ‘n they put in lots ‘a secret spaces. Patch’s goin’ through, makin’ notes ‘n stuff. It’ll make sure, iffen them Dentherion’s find us, we’s can gets away quick.”
“Never will,” Lyet muttered darkly and with satisfaction as he closed the passage.
“What do you mean?” Hopefully they heard her.
“Patch took care of the soldier who poisoned you.”
Oh. Should the teen sound so happy about that?
She, far too late, comprehended the door breaking open. The crack of wood and splintering, the shouts from Lyet and Rin, just before a large, red finger poked at her nose, trembling violently. The digit belonged to a round man with greying temples, a long beard and frantic brown eyes. He dressed in gold-embroidered, rich scarlet robes, something only the wealthiest wore.
So much for a quick escape.
“Where are they?” the man shrieked.
“Get out.”
Rin’s darkness equaled Patch’s, when he fell to it. Lyet smacked the finger away and leaned over, hiding her assailant from view with the protective gesture.
“Don’t you dare order me around, you illiterate—”
“Lady taught me to read,” he snarled. “So’s I’s plenty literate.”
“You—”
“Listen here, Meinrad, the Lady’s sufferin’ ‘cause yer lad’s a traitor. Gots poisoned savin’ them rebel kids ‘cause you deserted ‘m. She’s still sick and ain’t seein’ the likes ‘a you.”
Scuffling sounds, and a man’s hiss of pain before a hard thump against the wall.
“RIN!”
Lapis forced herself up, fighting against her body while Lyet leaped off the bed and ran to the rat. Steel flashed in his hand, and the strangers drew their swords with a chorus of shings. She surged to him, but her legs collapsed and she hit the floor with a knee-splitting bang. She choked on the mew of pain as a sword pointed at her nose.
She slammed her fist into it, knocking the blade away. The man hissed and steadied his wobbling weapon with both hands. A furious enemy grabbed her right arm; she screamed at the pain that roared down her side. He ignored her reaction, hefting her up and dragging her back to the bed. He lacked the leverage to throw her across, and she banged her stomach against the frame before falling to the floor.
“RIN!” Lyet’s panic infected her, and she tamped down on the need to respond in like.
“Rin.” She could not produce a loud sound, but she caught his attention. He stood, knife out, Lyet holding him back, two other men bent over in front of him, slashed deep enough that they could not hold their weapons. The remaining, unscathed five, regarded him with disbelieving anger. “You shouldn’t sanctify your room this way.”
His eyes flashed, sharp as any blade. She knew what he did when he struck in rage; her haziness did not blot out that night. She looked up at the fat jackass, who wobbled about on his heels and viewed the mess of his men with shocked disgust. Why tempt an unknown enemy? “Who are you?”
“You don’t know who I am?” She winced, hard, at his outraged squeal.
He flailed his arms out, then quieted, studying her as she stared back. If she looked half as dead as she felt, he had to realize her mental and physical shape. “No.”
“Him’s Perben’s mentor,” Rin snapped.
Perben. Her hate engulfed her.
“She’s sick,” Lyet said, her voice trembling hard. “She doesn’t remember much right now. Lady Thais said the medication will make her numb, physically and mentally.”
“Truly?” the jackass asked. He stroked his thick black beard, considering the words as he stared down his nose at her. “You don’t remember me.”
She shook her head.
“Do you know where your brother’s at?”
Her heart thumped a painful beat. Had something happened to Faelan? They had just reunited! What if . . . what if . . .
No. If Faelan met with injury or death, neither Rin nor Lyet would have kept the news from her.
“Well, what have we here?”
Every man started and whirled. Patch leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded, rage glinting in his eye. Meinrad bumbled about, his robes flaring wide and smacking her and the bed. She bent over, covering her head with her left arm. The edges were sharp!
“Where is Faelan?”
The certainty in which the man confronted her evaporated, leaving behind a hunched and apprehensive person. So he knew Patch and Faelan and Perben. A rebel, then. Should it concern her, she did not remember him?
“Upset he cut you off?” The rumbling sarcasm in her partner’s voice made the enemy shudder.
She settled her head on the mattress; she did not have to worry about violence if Patch was there. Her mind tumbled about as Lyet streaked to her and helped her onto the bed and into a sitting position. The teen’s eyes blurred with tears, and Lapis gripped her arm as she sank into several sweet-smelling pillows. She smiled, but apprehension leaked through.
“No one in the Blue Council knows where he’s at,” Meinrad gritted.
“Not true. The members he trusts know where he’s at. That doesn’t include you.”
The man’s fingers cracked as he clenched his hands into shaking fists. “He trusts no one on the Council?”
“You don’t consider those loyal to Faelan to be members of the Blue Council?”
“All other members of the Blue Council—”
“I suppose you don’t count Lady Ailis, but Caitria and Tearlach are most definitely members.”
“We can’t find them, either!”
“For good reason.”
Rin skirted the men and retrieved a pack sagging against the wall, then scurried to the bed. The rebels parted for him, though Lapis knew her partner’s presence prompted their nicer behavior. He flopped on the bed, which wobbled her enough she grabbed at her mouth, hoping to keep whatever swirled in her tummy there. Guiltily, he withdrew several bottles labeled with names she did not recognize. Lyet handed him a half-full glass of water, and they began mixing the liquid contents into it, using a precise measuring spoon.
“I can’t access the accounts,” Meinrad stated abruptly.
“You’re right. He cut you off—with Midir’s blessing.”
“We only have your word for that,” another man growled as he wrapped a cloth around his friend’s arm and yanked it tight.
“You think I’m lying? I nearly died for this rebellion—which is something you can’t claim. I’ve given my life to it, sacrificed for it—all while you and yours sat on your asses and whined about the lack of progress. You and your cowardice held us back—and that’s now taken care of.”
“How dare you,” Meinrad grated.
“You’re a rich noble. Pay for your upkeep with your own money. You’ve skimmed off the accounts long enough, without adding anything back.”
“There aren’t any missions or stakes, or—”
“Prove yourself trustworthy, and we’ll talk.” Patch’s pessimism oozed from him. “We’ll see how many roads you obliterated get rebuilt. Now get out.” The room darkened with his emotional state. “And if you or Rambart so much as touch Lapis again, don’t expect Faelan to hold me back.”
The younger men looked to the older one, who huffled but turned to leave. He should carry himself with more care; Patch did not make idle threats. Meinrad must think himself safe from the chaser, a silly assumption if her brother and Midir cut him off.
“Lady, drink this.”
Lapis accepted the glass from Rin and sniffed the contents. She could not place the scent, but it had a sourness that tickled her nose. She took a sip; sweet coated, but did not quite cover, the tang. “What is this?”
“Something Lady Thais taught us to make,” Lyet said. “It’s to help your body heal faster.”
She guzzled it.
The younger group, hesitant and angry, shuffled past her partner. Meinrad stiffened his spine and marched to the door, donning his arrogance like a cloak. Why continue to provoke him? Patch did not exactly have the most optimistic opinions of human behavior. They should thank the non-existent gods he didn’t finish what Rin started, because if Faelan and Midir cut them off, he had no reason to stay his hand.
Patch kicked the door shut and walked to the bed. He wore tight mottled black pants and a high-collared, sleeveless shirt, an outfit that, at the Jiy House, became synonymous with his wish to be left alone. Rebels skirted him or scurried away when he donned them, concerned about his temper. She hugged him instead, hoping to take the hard ice from his eye.
“Sorry,” Rin said, shamed.
“Rin, you faced seven rebels armed with swords. You had a knife. You’re fast, but not that fast. Get some more training, you may be.” Patch patted his shoulder. “You should clean the blade. Lanth has some supplies in her room if you don’t have any.”
“’Kay.” He levered himself off the bed and whisked out the door. Her partner half-smiled and regarded Lyet. “Can you make sure Dachs doesn’t cause more damage?” he asked. She made a face but settled the medicine materials in the bag and dutifully left, quietly closing the door behind her. Lapis watched her go, her sight blurring on continued tears. Her side, her knees, burned.
“How do you feel?” She did not manage a reply before he smiled. “Thais said you’d be groggy and fuzzy.” She frowned, slowly processing, while her partner slid over her and nestled against her.
She pressed into him, wanting to feel safe, and his arms helped. “Who was that?” she whispered.
“Meinrad. You don’t remember him?”
“No.”
He grunted. “You might not remember many of the Blue Council. That’s not a travesty.”
“He’s looking for Faelan?”
“They’re getting desperate.” He kissed her head. “It’s a worry for another time. Get some sleep.”
“So nothing happened to him?”
“No. He’s safe, secure, and adamant about avoiding the members of the Blue Council he deems a threat. Now get some sleep.”
She buried her face in his chest. Sleep. Yes. If she had unknown enemies, she needed to rest, in order to heal, fast.
