The quiet of the Night Market tore at Lapis’s heart. Just as many people filled the space, but the obnoxious cacophony of talk, music and cooking could not gain traction. Eaters sat at tables, heads bent, speaking in whispers as they lingered over their meals, afraid to leave and rejoin an uncertain life. Not one musician played, a hint no one was in the mood to tip. Even the clatter of cooking equipment had a subdued, sorrowful ring.
Her past self had assumed celebrations would break out in certain corners once word of Gall’s death spread, and she would join them. A skyshroud crashing into the palace had not been on her list of potential royal demises, and from the shock surrounding her and Patch, that unlikely event dampened the relief others might have felt in getting rid of Dentherion’s shackles because so many had family and friends who also fell victim.
The pain would linger for years. She knew that, understood the sick twist of emotional sludge as she replayed the events leading to her family’s slaughter, wondering what she could have done to save them. But she also believed that working for the crown and the nobles beholden to Dentheria spoke to the people’s viler natures. Gall had been a depraved ruler whose harsh hand and unfair executions did what the empire wanted: kept the Jilvaynan people in line, too afraid to fight back, while honoring wealthy supporters who saw power in premature death and enforced poverty. Those who willingly worked for them ignored the pain, and she was not ready to forgive them for that, let alone mourn their loss.
She hooked her heels over the stool’s crossbar and leaned heavily on her right elbow. What was going to happen when word spread that a rebel took out the king? Or would anyone believe it? If she had not witnessed the Lells’ fight, she would assume someone was trying to blame the underground for a death that obviously happened when a skyshroud the size of a small city crashed into the palace—and she and Patch pushed that narrative.
Jiy heard the explosions—they were not silent. The fires still chugged away. The visual evidence of flattened Green Castle was stark. Gall died under a Dentherion ship—a just ending, for a man who upheld the empire’s unjust rule.
“Look how many are clustered around the proclamations,” Patch said as he slid a bowl of yellow broth with dough balls to her and placed his own meal of chicken on rice with spicy red sauce next to it. She eyed the columns where long sheets hung, facing the lines for the food stalls so customers could not miss them. Most of the subdued noise came from those conversing about the announcement that Lord Krios would give a speech about the future of Jilvayna, and listing those who supported him.
That list was longer than she expected, and had names from leaders throughout Jilvayna, not just those from Jiy. She felt sorry for the poor rebel who had to stamp all the parchments with the signatures, unless Faelan wisely conscripted a street rat to do the job. Then she could count it as apprentice work and pay them extra for their effort.
Combined with the generous amount she anticipated her brother would pay, the urchin would have a nice pile of bits in the face of prices that were certain to rise.
She blew on the broth and sipped as her partner headed for the tea stall. The soup was nice, warm, and chicken-flavored with subtle spice, the perfect meal. Now all she needed was an over-sweetened hot drink to counter the painkiller’s taste. After the shivering, she needed to drown the ache in her shoulder, and she did not want to sit with a dry-leaf mouth for the remainder of the day.
She did not look forward to Caitria rebandaging her wound because she was certain it bled, and listening to a gentle reprimand about straining herself while wounded was not something she wanted to suffer through. Everyone else did something, no matter the wounds they received during the escape from the palace, so she saw no reason to ‘rest’ when she could help the Grey and Stone Streets understand the disaster and point them to resources.
Her body may not appreciate the work—and it made double-certain she knew that—but her mind did. And she would rather stay in Patch’s company, no matter how cold and windy the place, than lounge in the bedroom, worried about him.
She checked the tea stand; no Patch. She checked the back of the eating area where the street rats congregated; he spoke with Heran and Nilas, and the others crowded around, and by their hopeful expressions, he gave them enough shells to buy everyone a warm meal. Good. Tough times would turn tougher, and helping the least of them weather it sat high on her list of things to do.
Someone brushed her back, and she turned.
“Cassa!”
“Lanth, they said you’re hurt!”
She hugged the woman with her right arm and patted her left. “Got hit in the shoulder,” she murmured. “It’s fine.”
The scientist’s skepticism made her smile. “I think I heard that from every wounded rebel at the House,” she said, narrowing her umber eyes.
Dagby pulled up two stools and nudged Cassa. “What do you want to eat?” he asked. Lapis smiled as she brightened, and he beamed in turn. It was nice, the reminder that something good still remained in a wobbly, debris-strewn world.
“Lanth’s soup looks warm,” she said. “That’d be wonderful, but with chicken.” She sat on a stool and pulled her knitted hat off; her tight ebon curls fuzzed out with static. She ran her hands through her tresses, raising a sculpted eyebrow at the crackles. “It’s so dry here,” she complained. “And I thought the workstation was bad!”
“Yeah, Jilvyana freezes lead to fun grooming exercises,” Lapis said, touching her braid. The bottom puffed out, and she smoothed the ends into a semblance of order. “What are you doing here? Jiy’s a dangerous place to be right now.”
She nodded, her demeanor becoming more serious. “Which is why I left Tovi at the workstation. Kayleb’s recruited more Black Hats from Ramira, and they’ve set up patrols around Ambercaast. Combined with the Minq guards, it’s safer than down-mountain.” She set her hat down with a wince. “He was pissed.”
“I’m sure he was.” While she sympathized with Tovi, who, as Cassa’s son, would worry about her the entire time she was absent, she fought not to say something nasty about Kayleb and the Black Hats. If they funneled their violence into protecting something important rather than intimidating innocents, that was good, but she still did not trust them. Why did Kathandra? As the scientist in charge of the place, could she not find a merc company that did not have ties to the enemy?
“I came to help settle the terrons.”
She blinked. “Terrons?”
“Nathala thinks the Depth’s in danger, and I can’t fault her for believing it. First, while Requet turned the markweza over to the Minq, Gredy and Bov Caardinva are still out there. Both are not only the vengeful sort, they might be looking to kidnap a terron or two to sniff for the last vestiges of aquatheerdaal. Second, Jiy residents know about the terrons because they saw them at Fools and Ghouls, and any leader other than Midir might consider them a threat or worse. Third, if Mesaalle Kez is as dangerous and well-funded as it seems, Nathala’s concerned her people might get caught between them and the khentauree. Because of all that, she wants to offer terron aid to Midir and promote him as Jilvayna’s leader. She thinks he’s the Depth’s best chance to stave off many of the future problems she predicts.”
“I welcome their help,” Lapis said. “And I can’t see Faelan nor Midir rejecting it. Mint and Tia have proven many times over how effective fighters terrons are.” She smashed her lips together, then took a huge breath. “Requet handed the markweza over to the Minq?”
“He’s paving his way out of trouble,” Cassa grumbled. “Surprise surprise, sulky rich kid destroys and destroys, then does one brave thing to wrest him away from consequences.”
Lapis swallowed. “That one thing helped save Faelan and the others arrested with him,” she whispered.
Cassa put a hand on hers and leaned in, her lips pressing against her ear. “Tamor filmed what he could of the crash.”
Lapis regarded her with half-lidded eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?” The Minq had a camera, and everything that caught his eye ended up on film, despite the fact doing so, under the empire, was very, very illegal.
“He even tilted it, for the most dramatic angle.”
“You saw it?”
She nodded. “So if Requet gets antsy, he has evidence to make his life Pittish.”
Evidence? The film would show the jets going out, one by one; who would suspect Requet plowed the ship into the palace on purpose? “Did he film the Lells?”
Cassa shook her head. “No. I spoke with Neassa and had the impression the greater Minq syndicate wanted images of the conflict, but he conveniently ran out of space to record because he took so much of the skyshroud going down.”
“That is convenient,” Lapis agreed. She needed to thank him for that.
“Minq recorded fighting in other places, but what happened at the Lells is word-of-mouth. Shara’s ordered silence and, well, Neassa said Jo Ban went a bit further than that.” She edged closer. “I never would have thought Midir would take that upon himself. He’s braver than I would have been.”
“It was revenge, for my family, for all the rebels lost to empire paranoia, for his long-ago ancestors. You could see it in his eyes.”
“Faelan said that. How do you feel about it?”
“I’m glad they’re dead. The throne ordered the murder of my family, and they received what they gave.”
Cassa hugged her around her upper back, avoiding jarring her left shoulder. “If you need anyone to talk to, I’m here for a while. You dreamed of this for eight years, but it’s such a change, you may feel lost, uncertain.” She pulled away and tugged at the puffy sleeves of her pale lavender coat, which highlighted her soft, burgundy-brown skin. “I told Faelan and Midir that, too. I don’t think they knew what to do.”
“They’re busy right now, but they might take you up on it a bit later.”
She nodded. “The Beryl aren’t giving up as easily as they assumed, or so Dagby said.” She looked up and smiled.
“Hey, Cassa.” Patch settled a steaming teacup next to Lapis, set his own down, and plunked onto the stool.
“And how are you doing, Patch? Caitria said you broke a rib?” she asked as Dagby carefully set a tray containing a steaming bowl and thin-sliced tubers drowning in gravy and cheese. She twinkled at him, and he sparkled back before claiming his seat, ready to tear into his meal.
“I’m fine,” Patch said before digging into his coat pocket. “Sitting on the roof, doing nothing but scaring janks and shanks, isn’t a hard workout.”
“Janks and shanks?” She winced.
Lapis leaned into her partner as he set a pack of the painkiller powder next to her tea. “Cassa said Nathala sent terrons to help patrol.”
He grinned, and a mischievous glint lit his blue eye, anticipating the wet pants that would result from undershanks thinking too highly of themselves as they confronted the humongous lizards.
Cassa sighed. “Tia had exactly that same grin. I think the terrons are going to have a fine time scaring the common shank.” She took a sip of soup, and her exasperation turned to delight. “Ooooh, this is so good.”
Dagby tucked his shoulder-length hair behind his ears and smiled softly. The years that weighed on him disappeared in Cassa’s presence, and the average man of average looks took on the air of handsome, heroic lover. “Theyndora Eats has soups and stews from all over the continent. This one’s from Ramira, and it’s the one they sell out of on the reg.”
Ramira. The talk faded as Lapis stared at her pinched reflection in the soup’s golden surface. She would pray to the non-existent gods that the Ramiran rebels succeeded, if she thought it would do any good. Thinking of Jarosa, and Carnival right after, she stirred the broth, making waves before taking another sip. May Dentherion fall and not take another special someone from her.
