Her brother was in there?

Lapis studied the piles of paper on every conceivable surface, from the shined tables and blue-padded chair arms to the hardwood flooring and the small counters of cabinets. The windowsills even had sheets whose bottoms hung over the edge. Good thing the room sat on the third floor, because she did not think any of the stacks would survive intact on the ground level, considering the traffic.

“Faelan?”

She cautiously stepped inside, avoiding treading on any piece by luck. Some of the yellowed pages shed bits onto the boards, and she did not want to destroy the brittle objects.

“Faelan?”

“In here,” came the muffled reply. She picked her way to an open doorway that led to a brown-painted room. It had a wall-length desk filled with blank pages and ink, a table drowning in books, plain chairs lined up against the wall and containing sheets, and a tech contraption that looked like the one her father once used to listen to recordings. Faelan hung a pair of over-large earphones on a jutting hook and ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it before uncurling and rising from the cluttered floor.

“How do you find anything?” she asked.

“I usually don’t.”

“Then why spread everything out in the first place?”

“I’m even worse at finding things when they’re filed. I never remember what I put them under.”

Lapis itched to straighten something, tidy a pile here, stack books neatly there—and she was not as obsessed as Lyet. “Caitria said you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah.” He stretched, winced, and rubbed at the arm that had taken the blade meant for her. He never should have interfered, but the injury reminded her that her older brother’s guilt weighed more heavily on him than his potential death. “You missed the meeting.”

“And?” There was no way she was rising that early, not after the long night previous. She, Patch and Rin had remained at the Night Market, sitting with the rats and monitoring Midir and Requet. After the Dentherion raced out of the place, petulantly pissed and shaking and refusing to wait for the Black Hats, she admitted her concern was unwarranted. Her partner just smiled and guzzled more wake juice with the rat.

Miraculously, both crashed as soon as they returned to the Eaves, leaving her to escort a still-ecstatic Linz and a sleepy Whitley to the House, then return with Ciaran, who refused to let her walk the streets by herself, considering the danger.

He chuckled and hopped over a cluster of pages to her. “Fair enough. It was a lot of boring reports.”

“Jarosa doesn’t give boring reports.” Lapis turned tightly and made her way back to the entrance. She did not want to stand among musty sheets and sneeze while she spoke with her brother. She had an odd feeling about the summons, and she preferred to be in a padded chair or comfy sofa while hearing the bad news.

Faelan just grinned.

He ushered her to the suite he shared with Jetta. It sat on the second floor, down the hall from Patch’s. The receiving room was a dark brown and rich red, colors that evoked the calm heat of a late Mid Year Four day, when the tree leaves began their slow change from bright green to deeper, sunset hues. Large paintings of mythic heroes hung on the walls, decorative, shoulder-tall vases sat in corners, and thick drapes dangled at the sides of the two windows, all tied back with gold rope the size of her index finger. Thin fabric covered the glass and kept the sunlight muted. A fireplace with pine wreaths nailed to the mantle stood to the back, and she imagined her brother and his love bundled in a blanket in front of it, soaking up the heat despite cold Early Year nights.

Faelan flumped into one of the cushioned wooden chairs while she settled in a seat that resembled half a couch, with a short back, thickly padded armrests, and a wide bottom. The upholstery was dark red, but a black blanket covered most of it. She sank back, folded her hands across her belly, and waited.

“There are a couple of things,” he began before taking a refreshing breath. “I’d like you to read the minutes. Patch does, so he’ll have a copy.”

“I’m not part of the rebellion anymore.”

“No, you’re a chaser I’m going to hire to find Thyden.”

Unease threaded through her chest. “If he was Danaea’s partner, he’s probably a hunter.”

“Perhaps, though she treated him far differently than others she worked with. She didn’t attempt to rip him off or blackmail him.”

“Which means he’s dangerous.”

Faelan raised an eyebrow but did not pursue that line. “Linz found a picture of him in Danaea’s things. Apparently someone else hooked them up, and she used that photo as a reference. That someone else is our true target. It’s the person Requet is probably interested in as well.”

“Faelan—”

He held up a hand. “I want you to find him, not engage. I have a special unit for that.”

He must expect her to ask Patch for help, because he had underground informants about such things. “What else?”

“Speak with Superior Fyor. He has some information Adrastos wants him to share. He knows you, so I don’t think he’ll be as edgy about it.”

Faelan must not have enjoyed his suspicion when they first met. “OK.” She had expected something more, and her stomach knotted as her brother became more serious.

“And there’s a more personal matter. Beltin gave us some information.”

Anger filled her, coupled with dread. “On the raid?”

Faelan laughed, sickly enraged. “Oh, he attempted to say we mistook him, but it rang false, and he knew it. His reaction to you proved it. It broke him, to see you alive. In some twisted way, he assumed everyone who died no longer had pain, so to realize you survived and suffered . . .” He shook his head in disbelief. “He’s staring at the wall and crying. If he cared at all, he never would have sided with the enemy.”

She buried her memories; time to agonize over them later.

“But no. It’s not about the raid. It’s about a code. He gave us a cipher, and Wrethe decoded some of Danaea’s papers with it. The same person who hired her to go after Ahebban wanted her to go after me.”

Lapis was glad she was dead.

“She had yet to discover my location. Unlike Ahebban, I wasn’t conveniently in Jiy for her to hunt. Whoever paid her told her to go to Coriy, and she refused. There was a nasty back-and-forth before the documents ended. Linz is searching for other notes but hasn’t found any.”

“Did it have anything to do with Perben?”

Faelan settled his head in his palm and pondered his words before sighing and closing his eyes. “No. He didn’t leave much of a trail, but from what Ailis gathered, he interfered in every Dentherion attempt to harm me. He killed our family but put himself in danger to protect me.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t. But it’s something Meinrad and Rambart are well aware of and are using to cast doubt on my choice to break from them. I know this, because they’ve sent correspondence to other Houses throughout Jilvayna.” He laughed sarcastically. “They, apparently, are quite shocked that I spoke with those headpeople long before they had a glimmering to send letters.”

“Who’s sending you info?”

“Ciaran said you met him. Gerrit.”

“Yeah. He was stalking me with Perben’s people. He wondered why you and Patch trusted me.”

Her brother laughed hollowly. “Hmm. That’s disappointing, reflecting his own misgivings like that. He trusts few, including himself. Anyway, the throne executed his parents and an older sibling, and he’s never forgotten, and will never forgive, the cousins who used Gall’s paranoia to steal their land and wealth. Now that you’ve revealed Perben’s involvement with the puppet king, he’s willing to work to bring him rebel justice. He agreed to act as a spy against Meinrad and Rambart, and as far as we can tell, they’re oblivious to his continued relationship with us.”

“Too frantic about getting someone to pay them for their insolence?”

A bit of genuine humor peeked out from under the darker sternness. “I suppose.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “I also want you and Patch to visit Dagby. He’s associated with Ahebban’s murder, and he might know who paid them to complete the stake.”

“That’s asking a lot.”

“I know. You mentioned his brainbreak addiction. He might not remember anything from five years ago. He’s sane enough to hide, though. Jetta went looking for him while you were sick and discovered his drug den. It’s been cleaned out. Some of the other hunters said he went into hiding after Danaea died because he thought he’d be next. So he must remember something because he thinks he’s in danger.”

“I told Requet about his drug den. Guess he’s going on a dead-end chase.”

Faelan rolled his eyes. “You could not ask for a snobbier ass than Requet. The only reason he hasn’t been sitting in a jail cell for the last ten years is because his father bails him out of trouble. That he’s here, looking for Hoyt and those connected with him . . . Midir thinks some underground deal he made backfired, and he’s trying to clean up the mess before his father becomes aware of exactly how badly he screwed up.”

“I can’t believe he showed up last night, even if he was with Varr.”

“He hates Requet, Lapis, which is funny, because he and his father get along well. Word came about the leadcommander invading the night market, and he went out of curiosity. When he realized you were in danger?”

“I’m hardly worth that consideration, Faelan.”

“Not true.”

“He’s the heir.”

“Yes.”

Did her brother not care he put himself in such peril? He should; he fought to place the man on the throne, after all. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

She hefted herself from the deep seat and regarded her sibling. “I’ll find who wants you dead.”

He laughed. “There’s too many to count, you know.” She held up her hand, ready to prove him wrong, and he shooed her away with an exasperated grin. “Don’t forget to get that picture from Linz.” She hustled out; time to wake a dead-to-the-world Patch.

The Lells Guardhouse was bustling. Sour-faced guards took reports about the Black Hats incident from over-enthused merchants and customers; too many exaggerated fake fear as they spoke, though they had hidden and quivered in true terror during the fight. She caught a word here and there, and decided the braver gossips spoke with the law before the guard came knocking, thrilled about being a part of the excitement.

Her arm hair prickled, and she edged into Patch. If the long line for the receptionist could proceed with a tad more speed, that would be nice. Too many took a speculative interest in her and her partner, and she did not want to answer their intrusive questions. He said nothing, just drew her close.

“Lady, Patch.” Copper walked up, producing a small but worried smile. “Superior Fyor would like a word.”

He ushered them away from the gawking people and their sudden burst of whispers. She sighed. She did not wish to navigate the future questions about Patch’s participation in the events, because too many curious merchants would nose about, searching for an explanation as to why he worked with Sir Armarandos. Chasers of his caliber never helped the guard.

Copper led them inside and to the same sparse, dimly lit room where Lapis had met with Fyor and Lord Adrastos. He paused briefly as his hand settled on the doorknob. “She isn’t why he needs to speak with you,” he said in a bare whisper before pushing it open.

Superior Fyor sat behind his desk, hands folded on its surface, speaking softly with another guard who occupied a chair, legs crossed, back ramrod straight. Her black bangs fell in wispy strands around her face while the rest of her hair formed a tight bun. A heavy application of foundation and powder smoothed every wrinkle, and pristine pastel pink coated her eyes and lips. Her light brown gaze flicked to them, and scorn filled her expression before she donned a noble-polite half-smile.

The superior glanced at them and nodded at two chairs positioned in front of him. The absence of his friendliness alerted her, and she hoped she hid her distrust. She needed to know how much trouble she would be in if she annoyed the stranger.

Copper closed the door and planted himself against the wall while the unknown woman studied the two of them curiously. “I admit,” she said. “I never would have pictured you being partners. Your individual work is quite far apart.”

Patch shrugged, unimpressed with the assessment. “We’ve been together for eight years. So what if we don’t make a production of it.”

Fyor cleared his throat. “Superior Seeza, may I introduce Lady Lanth and Chaser Patch? Lady, Chaser, may I introduce Superior Seeza?” Fyor’s careful formality meant the woman had connections. She must; Jiy did not have many women who served in the guard, a prejudice that stemmed from the throne’s misogyny. It infected how they treated female chasers, and she imagined the nastiness did not stop there.

“So what does Lord Mizos and Lady Zara’s daughter want with us?”

Patch rarely issued warnings, and that he did so made her neck prickle. The couple was popular in Gall’s court, and she found it odd that a child of theirs would lower herself to work in the city rather than play political games. She needed to proceed cautiously with offspring of any noble well-known enough, she had heard of them.

The woman gave her partner a disapproving look. He lounged back, full of arrogance and distrust. She disliked the response even more, but Fyor sucked in a loud breath, interrupting a potentially nasty exchange.

“Lady, Patch, I’ve asked you here to discuss a growing concern.” He was all business, the sternness covering unease. Lapis knew him well enough to see through the façade, and hopefully Seeza did not. She could make life difficult for him if she realized his lack of trust. “The men who work for Hoyt and are searching for your false partner, Aethon, have interfered with guard affairs in their pursuit.”

Had they? It must have been a serious breach, that a noble would deign to speak with her about it. “A lot of people seem to be under that assumption—most recently the Black Hats and Leadcommander Requet,” she said. “Siward and his pals even shook down the cross gates druggies to find out more.” Seeza’s shocked distaste nearly made her laugh. She expected a disdainful response concerning the poor people living there, though it saddened her. “As I keep telling everyone, I’ve never heard of a chaser named Aethon, and he’s most certainly not my partner. They’re welcome to search for made-up people, but I have paying stakes to complete.”

Seeza frowned, the divot between her eyebrows deep, her eyes narrowed enough to provide a menacing aura. “Leadcommander Requet? And why is he searching for Aethon?”

Lapis shrugged. “I don’t know. He never said, but it’s why he showed up at the Night Market last night and kicked everyone out of Larkey’s corner. Had his shanks stick a tech weapon in my ribs and everything, to make certain I understood they were serious.”

The guard’s unpleasant, flat-lipped grimace concerned her. “He is Dentherion. He and his soldiers use tech weapons.”

“And that gives them full rein to shoot up places like Ruddy’s?” Patch asked with an unimpressed drawl. “As long as they only kill a couple of poor folk, it doesn’t matter much, does it?”

Seeza did not appreciate the assessment.

Fyor moved slightly, his fingers sliding into the ‘danger’ rat signal before he sat back and made himself more comfortable. Lapis reined in her bitterness, accepting her initial evaluation and vowing to keep her words in check.

Seeza’s foot jiggled up and down, belying either annoyance or unease. Her stomach twisted; she really did not need to navigate noble resentment on top of everything else. “And why, do you think, the underground believes this Aethon is your partner?”

“Well, everyone knew I had a partner, just not their identity.” Lapis glanced at him, thinking about making a soft acknowledgment; intense hate, held in the glint of his eye, the firmness of his lip, the flare of nostrils, must be the reason for the guard’s jittery reaction. She hurried on; Patch in this mood was not a pleasant man. “But now that someone’s trying to hunt me down to find this imaginary person, we made our relationship public.” She set her hand on her right gauntlet, prepared to unsheathe it, pondering his response. What about her triggered his loathing? “I don’t know where this mistake came from, I don’t know why Hoyt’s people are obsessed, and I don’t know why the leadcommander’s interested. I’d feel sorry for the poor man, if I thought he existed.”

“Perhaps he does,” the superior said, glaring in return at her partner. “Patch is hardly a birth name.”

Patch grinned; Lapis’s stomach fell. He typically directed his malice at guttershanks too impressed with their mediocrity, they thought themselves his equal in a fight, and he would not view her any differently. “I see elite conceit is strong and healthy,” he responded. “But sure, call me Aethon. I’d love to confront whoever’s yanking your chain about it.” He leaned forward, and she jerked back. “They put Lanth in danger. That makes them my enemy. And I’m certain you’ve heard about what happens to my enemies.”

“Patch,” Lapis sighed. He returned to his slouch, his eye glittering with eager spite.

“You think you’re untouchable,” Seeza said, her hands shaking hard enough, she clenched them in her lap. “You’re nothing more than a murderous guttershank. You deserve the jail mines.”

“Do I?” he asked, setting his elbow on the back of his chair and planting his cheek on his palm. “Name one person I’ve killed.”

She blinked. “Everyone knows you’re a hunter.”

“So I hunt. Who?”

No answer, because Patch kept those stakes secret. Residents of the Grey and Stone Streets gossiped about how deadly he was—and other than rebels, not one could identify any hunt he completed.

“Come now. Surely you can name one.”

A tinge of satisfaction crept into Fyor’s face as she blushed; he appreciated the hit-back. Interesting. Lapis eyed the superior, hoping to drag her partner away before he ran further afoul of noble feelings. “Do you know why they’re looking for this Aethon? Or who else I need to watch out for?”

“No, Lady, but Hoyt’s people are getting . . . desperate.”

“So I’ve gathered.” She rubbed at her nose; she hoped whatever the superior had to relate outside of Seeza’s presence was worth this bit. “I’m in danger and I don’t have the faintest idea why. It’s not a comfortable place to be.”

Seeza stood abruptly and vacated, yanking the door open and slamming it behind her. Lapis blinked at the display, while both Fyor and Copper glared daggers into her back through the door.

“She’s not very careful, is she?” Patch asked as he retrieved a small something from the floor under her chair. He squinted at it, then laughed. “When did she become a guard?”

“The knight commanders promoted her early this year.” Fyor rose and held out his hand; Patch dropped the whatever into his palm. He inspected it between his forefinger and thumb, then tossed it into a container Lapis thought was a garbage receptacle. A muffled zapping and a puff of smoke curled from the interior; a rancid stench filled the room. What had she dropped? “Over our objections, because she is not qualified for a superior position. Her father bought her rank and influenced the knight superiors to give her a guardhouse to run. Sir Armarandos refused to confer knight upon her, and no threats swayed him.”

And none would. Now that Lapis understood more about his family ties, she doubted any individual, except maybe Gall, could convince him to do something he did not want to.

“She’s not the only one,” Copper said. “A rash of nobles wanted their children placed in eastern guardhouses.”

Patch raised his lip, as if he smelled something extremely rank, and sat down hard enough his chair rocked. “I always thought they were trying to get in on the tech smuggling, without success.”

“It seems that way, especially after the incident with Nevid, but I’m afraid more is at play.” Fyor smoothed his greying brown locks back, a nervous action because the sleek oil kept them in order. “I need to speak with you, and I’m sorry Seeza arrived simultaneously. She is very interested in finding out who Aethon may be, and her explanation of her interest is murky.”

“It’s suspicious, considering yesterday,” Patch agreed.

“Yes.” Fyor’s brown eyes darkened before he slid a drawer open and retrieved a sealed envelope. He slipped it across the desk. “Things are not as safe as they once were.”

An odd response. Her partner snagged it and nodded.

“I’m in the mood to patrol the Lells. I would not mind the company.”

“I should check on the rats, anyway,” Lapis said.

The day was warm, and heat wafted from the cobbles, but cooler breezes flowed through the wooden shops, flapping the bright tarps and signs about and ruffling the many-colored blankets and awnings. A nice day for a stroll through the Lells, even if she had to constantly slip her hair behind her ears. The tourists thought so as well, considering how they flocked to the stalls. She wondered if the guard lifted the prohibitions about crossing to the western side of the river, or if they ignored them and did as they pleased. Richer Dentherions tended in that direction.

“Lord Adrastos has been busy these few days,” Fyor said, quietly enough his words did not make it past the four of them. “Most of it is in that letter. Some of it isn’t.” He paused under an awning that shaded a corner vacant of merchant and custom, and leaned against the rough wooden wall, folding his arms. “He dug into the skyshroud. Last night confirmed some of his suspicions, namely that Requet is the leadcommander and that Black Hat mercenaries man the ship. He believes syndicate infighting explains their presence in Jiy.” He sighed, as if the weight of knowledge had become too heavy. “What he didn’t include concerns Aethon.” He looked pointedly at Patch. “It seems Requet is involved with a Green Castle noble named Diros. For some unknown favor, he agreed to look into a few holdings that Diros’s late brother owned. Apparently the man gifted a friend rather than family with those lands, and Diros wants them back. Initially, Diros’s son was the inheritor, but he died at 16, so those lands reverted to his friend. That son’s name was Aethon.”

Adrastos was good. Lapis patiently waited, desperate to keep her polite interest instead of falling into immediate worry about Patch and revelations about his identity. His family helped to kill him once. What would his father do, to rectify the mistaken belief he had died? As they lived in the Green Castle district, Gall favored them, and might help them concerning their black sheep son.

“Now, a doctor, Thais, is Diros’s sister, and she cut ties with her kin shortly after the son’s death. Adrastos says you know her.”

“I do,” Patch admitted.

“You might want to ask her about her brother and her nephew. He attempted to make life difficult for her at court and failed because nobles refused to forsake her life-saving care for a family spat. He’s still trying, and if revenge over a son’s death drives him, he won’t stop.” Fyor shook his head. “Adrastos is concerned, because Aethon is the name on the stake about your partner, and it’s still active. It’s likely coincidence, since this Aethon is dead, but he thought you should know.”

“I need to thank him for his concern,” Lapis said.

“Be careful. Adrastos views Diros as a greedy, despicable man willing to cause great harm in the name of a few bits more in his bank account. He may well be using his deceased son in some way, though why you are the target, Lady, is elusive.”

“Nobles feel no shame,” Patch said darkly. Copper looked nervous, but Fyor did not respond to the tone.

“Lady!”

Scand skipped up, in no way ashamed of interrupting their conversation. His bright red cheeks glowed, and Lapis wondered what went so right, that he beamed.

“Do you remember Yedin?”

“Yes.”

“Yedin?” Patch asked.

“My last big stake? Yedin’s the farmer who helped me cart Hoyt’s men to the Kells Guardhouse. He got two silvers for the effort.”

“Well, he’s asking after you,” Scand said. “He’s shopping for a present, and he recognized me. He asked how you were doing because rumors reached the countryside about you helping Sir Armarandos at the Tree Streets Guardhouse!”

Wonderful. She wished to speak with Patch about Diros, but that would not happen until they reached their room, so she might as well be friendly. “I should go say hello.”

“I’m getting wake juice,” Patch declared. Did his perceived allergy to anything country include those who lived there? Lapis made a face; he kissed her and hastened away. Fyor chuckled and pushed from the wall, a clear indication their discussion was over. She waved at Copper and followed Scand across the square.