Jumper whickered and shook his head, his mane flipping around as light from the lantern rocked back and forth, the shadows cast by clumps of frozen slush moving in time with it.

“Good boy,” Lapis whispered as she patted the side of his neck. He snorted and fell in step with Patch’s mount while she finished the adjustments to the lamp pole stuck in a leather casing strapped to the saddle.

She still did not know his name, but since he carried her and Rin across a crashing Swift and over numerous Dentherion soldiers’ helmets, she felt the moniker fit. She would call him that until told otherwise.

Patch pushed his fuzzy hat’s brim higher; that he even wore a hat astounded her, but she refused to mention it. He might take it off, and he needed warmth more than teasing. “Fucking middle of nowhere,” he grumbled.

She agreed with that. Meinrad had an estate situated on the edge of Nacker, one of many orchard towns that sat along the Southern Kells road. The way was flatter, so the bitter wind struck them with ferocity, rather than being deflected by hills. The buildings funneled the gusts down the streets, too, a combination that made for an even chillier experience.

No one else traveled the road for as far as she could see, not a surprise considering the cold, but even on freezing nights, some traffic usually moved back and forth. Merchants and travelers arriving too late to enter the city would stay at the inns clustered around the Kells Gates, enjoying rich food and drink and listening to performers of all kinds, while sellers who stayed at the markets until their last item sold headed home after paying their taxes.

Were there any guards left to collect those? She and Patch took a Minq-patrolled tunnel out to bypass the gates, so did not know, but she assumed the guards had vacated that duty. Had the community centers or rebels picked up the task?

Not that it mattered. Who was traveling to the city? She assumed word spread like fire throughout Jilvayna concerning the king’s demise and Jiy’s problems. Merchants would find other, safer places to trade. The farmers who initially declined the offer to sneak their produce and meats into Jiy through the farming collective would leap at the opportunity to sell their foodstuffs without endangering themselves, which kept them off the roads and safe and snug in a warm home.

She still did not understand the insistence of so many to do things the “proper way”. Gall designed the seller fees to cause significant harm to farmers. Why meekly play a part in that?

They passed smaller settlements; no one walked the streets. The homes the lamplight illuminated had their shutters closed tight, yellow fruit oil light leaking around the edges, chimneys puffing wood smoke into the air. Even inns were shuttered, though heartier noises issued from them.

Locals drowning their sorrows? Likely. They had a lot to worry about.

From experience, she anticipated the barons would hike the taxes on those they oversaw, keeping all the take for themselves since no government exited to tell them no. They hunted for any opportunity to strip wealth from others and stuff it into their own pockets; she and Patch had run many rebel missions dealing with those greedy gluts because their thirst for money harmed recruitment. Locals who saw rebels doing nothing about the exploitation refused to support them; after all, did they not proclaim they fought corruption on behalf of the commoner? If they failed so spectacularly in a small town, how could they manage an entire country?

She hated those stakes; sneaking into mansions and businesses in search of blackmail material simultaneously frightened and enraged her, but she never complained because the info, ultimately, served the greater good. And if rebels sometimes had a little chat with them afterwards? Maybe they should have lived a better life.

They reached Nacker; the green-painted entrance gate held large glass lamps that emitted rich light, illuminating the apple-bedecked sign with the town’s name. A waste, considering the shortages peeking over the horizon, and a hint that the residents thought hardship would not hit them.

How wrong they were.

Patch took the first left road after the gate, and they continued past an obnoxiously loud inn with empty wagons lined up along the street and a packed stable. The animals munched on hay and oats, no stablehand in sight to keep the greedier from taking another’s meal. A single-story bakery, butcher store, and beer shop stood between it and the first double-story houses. They, too, had shutters and doors closed tight, a bit of light leaking through the edges but not enough to illuminate the silent way.

The quiet sent shivers down her spine.

They reached a grey stone wall with a wrought iron gate, Orchardside engraved on an illuminated plaque to its side. Lapis lifted her lip; a name just as unique as the one who owned the place. Two men bundled in long woolen coats waited in the glass-windowed guard shack, a single lamp glowing bright and casting grotesque shadows upon the walls. One hastened out and unlocked the gate; clucking her tongue, she urged her mount inside. Patch followed, face blank, his patch lights racing fast enough, they formed a glowing ring.

The bars clanged ominously shut behind them.

“They’re up at the house,” one of the guards said, waving his hand towards the drive.

Patch hefted his wake juice jug in response and they continued through snowbanks as tall as the horses’ shoulders. Towering trees lined the way, their bare branches forming a tunnel. A few of the older estates had similar designs, but newer ones preferred shorter drives and larger gardens behind the mansion.

She adjusted her scarf, dread and nerves worming through her tummy. She hated this. Her encounters with the two ex-rebels rarely ended well, and if things got heated, she did not look forward to escaping.

The interior of Patch’s patch blazed bright; his misgivings reflected hers. Hopefully Midir made it clear that, if anything happened to them, Meinrad and Rambart would forfeit more than their reputations. He and the Wolf Collaborate members were building a new government from the ashes of corruption. Nice did not win against other, more pressing considerations.

“There are a lot of people here, Lapis. It’s like they brought every person they worked with.”

“So they don’t trust us.”

“It’s mutual.”

Lanterns atop stone bases marked the paved yard for the storied, grey stone mansion, though no fountain sat in the center. Considering Meinrad’s snobbishness, she found the lack of an ostentatious display odd. The horses’ hooves crunching on the gritty snow was the only sound other than the wind.

Stablehands in thick woolen coats dotted with hay waited for them at the bottom of the entrance’s stair, hunched, hands shoved into pockets. She patted Jumper’s neck and dismounted, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and happy her scarf covered her reaction. Showing weakness to this lot would bode ill.

The men took the reins and led the horses to a sheltered hitching post to the left, one with a trough and feedbags. Wealthier rebels throughout Jilvayna had a similar set-up for couriers who they met with. How many had Meinrad entertained at Orchardside? That almost made him a Jiy rebel, and it disconcerted her, she had not known about him until the Blue Council showed up in the city.

The dark-stained double doors had a tree carved on them, one side full of apples, the other with overflowing baskets near the trunk. Oddly, the presentation made her think of Lord Adrastos and the care he took with his orchards. Meinrad struck her as a man who would leave the labor to hired help but take credit for the resulting bounty, just like he had younger men to do the dirty rebel work for him while he remained safe and sequestered from harm.

A man in a tailored butler uniform opened the door and bowed them into a stuffy entrance.

The butler did not ask for their coats, but silently guided them across the white-tiled foyer, which had two gold-washed stairs running up the sides and meeting in the middle at a landing that led to the second story. The stairs continued up; four stories, as far as she could tell, with an enormous gold chandelier dangling down, dozens of white candles resting in shallow cups and light reflecting off the glass drops.

A short hallway opposite the entrance had gold sconces lining the way, humongous, gold-framed landscape paintings hung between them, and two wooden doorways on each side. Curtained glass doors stood at the end; Lapis bet they opened into a garden, but the darkness and the frosty windows hid the view. Not that she thought there was much to see; snow piles and bare branches would not enchant her.

The butler knocked on the right-hand one and opened the door with a nod; within were ex-rebels lounging in leather chairs, sitting on padded couches, standing against the walls, holding glasses of amber liquid and talking in low voices. She recognized several as beholden to Meinrad and Rambart; they followed them like a noble’s servant train, doing bully work while the two older men stood around and looked down their noses at their hapless victims.

The younger lot might not think of themselves as rebel traitors, but uplifting Perben as a hero after finding out he helped the palace kill her family said everything about their lack of character. They, as much as Meinrad and Rambart, paved the way for the breaking of the Blue Council. How many still blamed her for their subsequent ousting from the Jilvayna rebels?

Anxiety smacked her as she got a better look at the people in back; she recognized several ex-rebels from the Jiy House.

She knew them, had suffered under their mockery while completing missions they forsook. They joined the cause not because they believed in a better Jilvayna, but because they saw the rebellion as a boarding house. A mission here, a mission there, nothing too strenuous—leave that for the talented while they ate and slept in relative comfort.

Brander and Sherridan wanted them gone, but Baldur never cared. He bought his position as headman, which allowed him to pretend he had wealth and standing above his station. He impressed gullible others with the show, which meant more to him than weeding out the undesirables.

Apparently those undesirables found another patron; they all dressed in velvet, silk, and nice wool-silk blended suits with jeweled necklaces, earrings and cuffs, items too expensive for any Jiy rebel to afford. Meinrad and Rambart must have provided the luxury, but why? For this meeting?

Behind a humongous dark-stained desk, a padded leather chair engulfed Meinrad, making him appear small and insignificant despite the resplendent green robe with golden swirl patterns encasing his girth. He stroked his full beard as he glanced at the door, and his bushy brown brows shot down in a disapproving frown when he realized only she and Patch walked through the door.

Rambart sat on a couch to the right, his crossed leg bouncing slowly. He had gelled his dark hair and trimmed his greying beard so close to his thin jaw, it might as well have been shaved off. He wore a heavy entertainment jacket and fitted pants with a crease in the middle of the legs, and she wondered if they all had another engagement they planned to attend after this meeting. Why else dress that way for a work-related chat?

The idle chatter died as all eyes riveted to them. The butler closed the door with a soft click.

“You want to talk? Talk.”

Patch flumped onto the empty couch on the left and banged his jug down on the side table with a glass-ringing crash. Lapis settled next to him, her heart thrumming as she pulled her scarf down. She regarded the gleaming eyes and did not care what they wanted; the answer was no.

Meinrad smashed his lips together and flicked Rambart an unamused glare. What did they expect? They did not rise and greet them when they entered, and they did not offer a drink; why demand niceties from Patch when they neglected them? They no longer worked for the rebellion, so if they behaved poorly, her partner had no reason to suffer through it.

Meinrad folded his pudgy hands and set them on the desk, his index fingers nervously tapping the back of his hands. “Is the king truly dead?”

“Yes.” Patch leaned back, slid one arm along the top of the couch and slipped his other around her; did she look that needy? Or did he make a play at appearing non-threatening, expecting her to act if things got out of control?

She inwardly laughed. Not one person in the room thought of her as a true partner to the deadly man, and she would educate them before they had the chance to draw weapons. Her spin attack worked on janks; no reason to think this lot was any better prepared.

Patch did not elaborate, and the group exchanged glances, shifting in unease. After a too-long pause, Meinrad cleared his throat. “Are you certain? We know the palace exploded, but we heard reports that the royal carriage escaped the skyshroud, taking the Avranda river road.”

Who told them that? Perben? She fought for Lady Lanth’s casual calm, because seething about his continued involvement with the fallen rebels would not help speed the meeting along. Yes, he helped them save Faelan after the palace arrested him, but that did not grant him a sliver of forgiveness for his past deeds.

“He’s dead,” Patch said. “Corpse confirmed. So was Kale’s. Seems the ass was planning to hand his king over to some mercs. Still not certain who hired them. Gall got caught in the crossfire.”

Meinrad raised a lip in shocked disgust as the group made a lot of hmphing and snorting sounds.

Rambart frowned. “Are they the ones fighting in Green Castle?”

“Maybe. There’s several groups tromping around looting along with desperate shanks. Can barely tell one from the other.”

“You’ll need our help, then.”

The abrupt comment earned the speaker a gritty hiss from Meinrad, but he did not look contrite. Lapis thought she recognized the ashy brown-haired, dark-eyed man as one of the asses who followed Perben’s orders and hunted her down when the Blue Council first arrived in Jiy, but she had no name.

That did not matter. She refused to trust a word that escaped his mouth.

“We need the help of those with conviction,” Patch said, his voice lowering, his tone turning ugly with loathing. “You lot proved yours is lacking.”

“Because we didn’t believe a liar?”

Lapis’s hate rose at the silken words. Relaine leaned over from between two nervous men and regarded her with lightning in her brown depths. She wore a form-fitting, dark pink velvet dress with bell sleeves that emphasized her curvaceous figure and matching silk shoes that looked as if one step would scuff them. A red ribbon looped through her shiny brunette braid that hung over her shoulder, tangling with the crystals dangling from her ears. A gold necklace with a sparkling stone lay just above her breast, catching the light and reflecting with blinding intensity. As usual, she darkly defined her eyes and brushed rose over her cheeks, looking as luscious as she could.

Apparently flirting with Perben paid off. She had access to nobles willing to give her nice things.

Before she uttered another word, Patch raised his hands, slapped them on his thighs, and rose as the crack reverberated through the room. “And with that, we’re done.”

“You can’t leave!” Rambart said, aghast, as protests rang. Meinrad rose as well; her partner snagged the jug, opened the door, and strode through.

Lapis regarded Relaine, who pursed her bright garnet lips as those surrounding her pierced her sultry confidence with their seething glares. “And you bragged how your sweetness drew even the most reluctant to talk,” she said. “But I guess that was before you left the children to rot during the palace raid.”

“I did no such thing!” Relaine leapt to her feet as the ex-Jiy rebels hissed at her, and shock reverberated through the rest; had they not known? Surely the ex-Jiy rebels had said something? They knew what happened; the parents made certain of it.

“You were on call, Relaine. YOU.” She jabbed a finger at the trembling woman. “But don’t worry. Me and Vivina didn’t need you.”

“Vivina,” she said through clenched teeth.

Lapis grinned, hoping she put malicious glee into her expression as Meinrad headed around the desk. “That, of course, brought her to the attention of Requet, the leadcommander of the skyshroud. Guess what, Relaine?” She snapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I’m sure they’re not inviting you to the wedding.”

She focused on Meinrad, raised her hand, and triggered her right gauntlet.

The room froze, some people in mid-rise, as the purple beam shot from her knuckles and glowed with menacing purpose. Meinrad halted, his brown eyes round enough, she could see a ring of white surrounding his irises.

“Meet my new gauntlet friends,” she said. “An ex-Dentherion army modder made them for me.” She slowly moved her thumb in a circle on the outer handle; the beam zipped towards the ceiling. A collective gasp echoed through the room. “And you won’t be escaping when I use them.”

“We’ve information.” Whether fear or anger made Meinrad sound hoarse, she did not care; she could play with his weakness.

“Information? About what?”

“LAPIS!” Patch shouted, his voice reverberating from the foyer.

“THEY SAY THEY HAVE INFO!”

“THEY CAN SEND IT BY COURIER.”

“It’s about grey monsters in southern Jilvayna!” Perben’s friend rushed through the words as he faced her. Rambart smacked the arm of the couch and glared at him, his sharply defined features taking on a demonic cast.

So they thought they had leverage. Cute. Lapis stared at him, then released the handle; the beam sucked into the gauntlet with a satisfying hiss. “Talk fast.”

“Not until Patch—” Rambart began.

She pivoted and strode out the doorway.

“They were seen near Grisdem,” Perben’s friend said.

She paused, looked over her shoulder, and waited. Grisdem was a small town east of Coriy, along an ancient Taangin paved road that, despite the years, remained in good condition. She had accompanied her father there when he met with their rebel leader, an older man with the whitest hair, deepest sun-made wrinkles, and the kindest heart.

His wife giving her the richest, frostiest cookies, cemented her love of the two.

“There are caves to the south, and locals saw light. Rebels went to investigate.”

Caves? “The ones above the Greenback River?”

He blinked, surprised. “Yes.”

“And why did they tell you and not the Coriy House?”

He hesitated, and she did not have the patience to worm reluctant words from him. She took another step.

“There were large fires, and dozens of creatures with animal bodies and human torsos cavorted around them.” He swallowed and took a step back; impatient Patch leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms, not bothering to hide his rage.

“Cavorting, huh?” Quite the interesting take, considering Perben had fought with several of them. Had he bothered to tell anyone about the escape, or did he find their belief in scary khentauree monsters more convenient?

“That’s what the rebels said.”

“Did they have weapons?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hopefully they stay far enough away not to scare them off before we can check.” She would chastise herself later, for believing the military khentauree would freeze in place on the journey to whatever base they fled to, rather than stop, rest, and heat their sponoil. Or cheresti. Or whatever it was running through their mechanical veins.

Patch laughed with sarcastic disbelief. “So you held onto this as leverage? Thought it would buy you back into the Blue Council?”

“We just learned of it,” Perben’s friend muttered.

Maybe he had, but she bet Meinrad and Rambart knew long before.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We’re respected leaders around Coriy and Vraindem,” Meinrad gritted. He snagged his lapels and pulled on his robe, adjusting them to reveal a golden chain with a glittery white gem. “Rebels trust us and listen to us.”

“Old leaders did, yeah,” Patch agreed. “But the new ones? They aren’t enamored.” He pushed from the jamb. “It isn’t Faelan you need to impress, Meinrad. It’s Midir, it’s Jo Ban, it’s Jarosa and Carnival. They plan to mold the Wolf Collaborate into the governing entity of the newly freed member countries. They’ll be in charge, and they’re the ones who will decide who stays and who doesn’t.” His gaze flicked around the room, then lingered on Relaine. “And the company you keep isn’t going to convince them of your sincerity.”

“I didn’t leave the children behind!” Relaine flared, clenching her hands and jerking them down to her side. “I’m from the Stone Streets! I know what it’s like, to be left to the mercy of the shanks. I would never—”

“You rotated in. List was posted at the kitchen and the dining room, like it always was. You knew, you preferred to preserve your own skin.” Patch leaned towards her; despite the distance, she arched back. “Midir made me promise not to touch you if I saw you.”

“The rotation lists were left at the House,” she began, her voice trembling. “If I had them, I would prove—”

“That isn’t what he’s interested in.” He stood straighter. “You want to help?” He jerked his chin at Perben’s friend, then at her. “Get her to talk about how a Dentherion tracking device found its way into Vivina’s baby bag. Some of us are dying to know.”

The room collectively shuddered.

The clack of boots on tile caught Lapis’s attention. She glanced down the hallway and triggered her gauntlet with a hiss.

Perben raised his hands, proving he held no weapon, though his eyes remained dead brown. With him were two buddies. Unlike the group in the room, they dressed in common button-up shirts, sweaters, jackets, and rough pants; nothing one would wear to a formal outing. Were they not invited, or had they decided to stay in that night?

She noted the pockets and caches they could pull a small weapon from before she forced a clench-teethed smile.

“I thought your mother had you on a leash.”

He hmphed and dropped his hands. “My mother went back to Coriy with Thyra. I opted to remain here.”

She hated that he did not use Lady Thyra’s rebel name, and hated that Lady Merika didn’t yank him back even more. “Convenient.”

“Don’t think all the dangers are external. Faelan’s here; so am I.”

Patch kept his hands free and stepped into his lazy chaser stance. “Don’t care one way or another what you believe.”

“Not in the house!” Meinrad roared, worry lacing his tone as he scurried out of the room and stood behind them. So the place meant something to him beyond a retreat. She did not care; if the enemy attacked, she would respond.

Patch glowered, and a tinge of worry softened the traitor’s expression. He had proudly worn the designation of Rebel’s Devil, but her partner did not need a title to brag on. He had his voluminous record of successful missions, and if pushed, he would punch Perben into the Pit. “If you’re interested in helping Faelan, get that shit to tell you who her contact is.”

“I’m not a rebel anymore.”

“And that would be why.”

Perben firmed his lips and returned the anger. Lapis walked between them, raising her left arm and flipping her hand to break their animosity apart.

“You’re mine,” she said, meeting his eyes as she passed.

“But not right now?” he mocked, tugging at his curly bangs.

“No, not right now. You destroyed your mother’s life, and she doesn’t deserve to suffer over your death on top of that. After she’s gone?” Lapis sheathed the beam and choked on laughter before sucking in air through too-tight lungs, ignoring the prick of tears. “Well, ice-cold revenge isn’t how I planned it, but I’ll take it.”

She drifted on, knowing, if he breathed at her wrong, Patch would send him to the Pit before she had a chance at him.

“Why do you think I’ll just let you kill me?”

“I don’t.” And, as with the janks, underestimating her would be the last thing he did.

“That assumes I don’t get you first,” Patch said.

Silence followed them out the front door.