They reached the small, derelict guardhouse without incident. Patch had activated the tech in his eyepatch to scan the area around them for warm bodies, but they did not encounter anyone on the way. They had not quite waded down the puddled walk when Copper stormed out, papers tightly clasped in his trembling left hand, rage infusing his face. He was soaked, his reddish-brown hair plastered to his face and neck, his clothing dripping. How long had he been dashing about in the rain?

He noted them and rushed to them, waving the pages. “Lady, Heran staked you.” His words, so angry, so disbelieving, smacked her as hard as any physical punch.

Heran? Heran had staked her? She numbed and fell into soft darkness, the same detached feeling she experienced when she watched her family’s corpses displayed in coffins after Nicodem’s destruction. She listened as if she were a bystander curious as to the commotion, but not involved.

“She promised a metgal, far more than she could ever hope to pay, and claimed you’re an accomplice to murder.”

The numbness shuddered, but she held it.

“That’ll get her killed quick enough, when shanks realize she posted a fake stake,” Patch said stonily.

“I’m going through and tearing them all down—and I don’t know who took it in the first place. Everyone in the Grey Streets knows she’s a rat and can’t pay this. They know what happened to Miki and how an undershank killed him, not Lanth. She had to have gone to another district and placed it—and why they accepted such a ludicrous stake from a street rat, I’ll never know.”

“She must have gone to the Undermarket and placed one with the shanks there,” Patch said, his rage outweighing Copper’s. “They aren’t as picky in what they take and don’t necessarily take payment in advance. It probably made its way above ground from there.”

“What an asinine—” Copper paused, raised his head and smashed his lips together, attempting calm. He shook with the effort to contain stronger emotions. “I’ve tried to help her,” he intimated. “I’ve tried to listen. She just got angrier and angrier and lashed out at everyone. Nilas told her to stop it. Miki was warned, like every other rat, about the potential danger of attack. He knew better, disregarded the threats, and died for it.” He smacked his thigh with his fist. “It happens, you know it does. Rats think they’re invincible, until they die. They’re young, stubborn, and absolutely certain the dangers can’t touch them, especially when they’re on the border between rat and adult. They survived that long, they think they’ve made it.” He raised the sodden papers and clenched them tighter. “If she did post it in the Undermarket, she just endangered every rat in the reading circle. Shanks don’t care who gets in the way of a rich stake.” His gaze flicked to the cloth sack Patch carried. “I’ll hit the Undermarket, too. I’ll get Fyor up and borrow his horse. I . . . don’t know what else to do. But I’ll take care of the stake papers. Don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you,” Lapis whispered.

“Lady, I don’t know all the details, but I know the people who attacked Miki killed your family. It’s unconscionable for Heran to add to that pain, no matter how much she’s hurting.” He glanced past them to the empty road. “You’re better at sending out warnings to the rats than I am. They need to be on alert, these next few days.”

She nodded, her thoughts refusing to settle. Of course she needed to warn the rats—and any who knew Heran, because if Danaea had already taken the stake, so had others, and once they discovered the deception, her friends would pay along with her.

“We’ll be at the Eaves, if you need to reach us,” Patch said as he snagged her hand and squeezed gently. She clutched him back, too tight.

“Aye,” Copper said, waving them on.

Her partner tugged her on their way, outwardly blank, reflecting her inner emptiness. She stared at her feet the rest of the walk, purposefully listless, but popped up when they sped through the Eaves’ front door. She looked about; regulars, and all people she trusted. Patch scanned the scattering of people as well, though she knew he employed other methods to search for enemies.

Faelan lounged with the reading circle in their special corner, half-listening to Ness and Gabby tell him something, but Lapis recognized his distant stare. He pondered something else, which occupied his thoughts and most of his energy. She had detested that absentness as a child, but the older she became, the more she staggered under the same heavy burdens that prompted it. Tearlach sat next to him, amused at what they said.

Faelan glanced at them and immediately rocked up. “What happened?”

“Heran staked Lanth,” Patch said bluntly. “Put a metgal on her head.”

“She did WHAT?” Rin and Dachs said, together, with rage and outrage, as the scattering of Eaves customers quieted and the rats gasped.

“I need to change,” Lapis said, unable to handle the stares. She fled upstairs to her room, huffing on tears and pain and rage and unnamed emotions that tightened her chest hard enough, she struggled for breath. Her hand trembled violently, so she used both to jam the key into the slot.

Slamming her door open and closed was unsatisfying. She smacked the key down on her dresser, the act stinging her palm, and tried to get out of her clothing. Her hand caught as she yanked her left arm through her coat sleeve, and the material ripped with a loud snarl. She snagged the bottom of her shirt and jerked it up, realized she still wore the cloak, and collapsed to the floor, tangled in cloth and black hair. She curled over her stomach, planted her forehead against the cold boards, and fought the mind-fuzzing panic.

Staked. The long, thin silver knife that slid under the counter at Red’s, in the right hands, could have cut her before she even realized the attack. She could have bled to death on the Night Market floor before help arrived, and not even known why. Lucky for her Patch realized the danger, because he had drawn her close and reacted to Danaea as if he expected an attack. She, too caught up in the dregs of mourning, for her family, for Miki, had not paid attention to the crowd. She knew better. Hoyt’s stake was still active, and too many of Perben’s men freely wandered Jiy streets. She could not afford to drop her guard, for both would not hesitate to stab her if given the chance.

And now she had assassins after her.

She wadded her clothing in her fists rather than pound the floorboards. Why had Heran done this? Did she hate her so much, because she was the reason Perben mistook Miki for Rin and killed him? She never wanted Miki to die! She never wanted any rat to die! She wanted them to live, to prosper. Why else teach them to read, so they could gain skills that made them attractive to potential employers? Not everyone learned to read in the Grey Streets. Not everyone could get an education. Reading, a cursory understanding of numbers, gave them a way to step up and above. It gave them a path to provide for a lover, a family, and not drown in the dirt-alleyway poverty and dark sorrows guttershanks faced.

The door opened, wind passed her, the Patch settled dry, warm black clothing on the bed and squatted down next to her. “Come on.” He gently helped her out of her soggy attire and into the warmer fare, then gathered her in his arms and held tight. She clutched him as close as she could, barely aware of anything but him, as she tried to order her thoughts, emotions. She needed to regain her numb because she could not function without it.

“I’m sorry, Lapis,” he whispered. “I know Heran was a reading circle rat at one point. I know this hurts.” He nuzzled her temple, his lips soft and hot. “I’m not going back to the meetings until we’re sure no one else has grabbed the stake. And neither should you, even if they summon you.”

“I’m causing so much trouble. The rats don’t deserve this.”

“You haven’t caused any of this trouble. And you would never purposefully put the rats in danger.” He settled his hand against the back of her head and his other arm tightened around her, a cocoon of warmth and compassion for her to wallow in. “It’s true, they don’t deserve the life dealt them, but you help make it tolerable. You do your best to provide a way for them to rise above the Grey Streets. For Heran to add to that pain, it’s unconscionable, like Copper said.”

They stood together, Patch’s warmth-infused strength filtering into her, until a soft knock on the door alerted them. “Dalia’s warmed up your food,” Faelan called, his voice muffled by the door.

Food? She fought the revulsion. She did not want to eat, but Patch’s sternness told her he felt she should.

Everyone, rebel, rat, customer, Dachs, cast her concerned looks as she and Patch entered the main room. She hated the attention, but Patch had her hand firmly clasped in his, so fleeing back upstairs was not an option.

“Are you OK, Lady?”

She looked over at Lyet, and noticed Rin no longer sat with her. “Where’s Rin?”

“He and Scand and Gabby went to warn the other rats,” Phialla said darkly, adjusting her glasses before pushing her brown hair behind her ears. “It doesn’t take a genius to know Heran staked us, too.”

“Everyone knows about Lady Lanth’s reading circle,” Brone insisted forcefully, his tone deep and somber. “Kidnapping one of us to get you out in the open is an obvious thing for a guttershank to do, especially for that much money.”

“No rat’s going to trust her again.” Lyet folded her arms and leaned back, her reddish-brown eyes flashing. She often attempted to bury her anger, but her eyes always betrayed that emotion. “And why should we? There’s no excuse for what she did. Did Nilas know?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet Lars did,” Brone muttered, his brown gaze hard and unforgiving. “He was just as upset as Heran.”

“If he helped her, he’s a dipshit,” Patch intimated. “Chasers hate fake stakes, and if a guttershank’s tricked into taking it, they’re never very nice to those who embarrass them.”

Faelan slid back onto the bench settled against the wall, and Patch pushed her to it as well. He sat on the edge while Tearlach took a chair opposite them. He hid it far better than the rats, but his anger raced through him as well, belied by his stiff lips and narrowed, deep blue eyes. Lapis remembered his angry hesitancy as a child; he, a scrawny kid with little muscle, did not have a chance against the bullies and their nastiness, so he hid. She had the feeling he no longer bowed his head and raced away from danger.

Dachs shuffled over with their meal, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Copper’ll get all the stake pages, Lady,” he said. “He’s thorough, when he’s upset. He’s been good to Heran, and she just spit in his face.”

“She’s hurting.”

“We all are,” Ness said quietly, sounding far more mature than his nine years. He regarded her soberly, his large brown eyes soft and sad. “Miki was really nice to me. He was really nice to everybody. I don’t think he’d like it, that Heran staked you.” His shoulders drooped, and his normally rosy cheeks dulled to a melancholy dark brown.

“I think you’re right,” Brone said as the other rats murmured in agreement.

Their assent intensified her guilt. She should have killed Perben when she first noticed him in Jiy, instead of letting Faelan talk her out of it.

She forced food down her throat, hard to do as her stomach rebelled and her gorge rose. Dachs brought warm tea, which slid down easier. She had not finished half her meal before Patch completed his and stood. He outwardly expressed cool, calm, but he could not hide the hints of the furious fire raging in him.

“Patch—”

“I’m going to find out how she staked you,” he told her. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“We’ll be here until you get back,” Faelan promised.

She eyed her brother, but he and Patch obviously agreed her partner should have a chat with Heran. Lowering her fork, she fought the suffocating dark anger, frustration, and helplessness swirling within her. She knew the sludge of emotion intimately, having experienced it after her family died. It had taken years to suppress, and she did not want those sitting with her to experience that journey with her. They deserved better.

The rats continued to read, but their absent expressions and concerned glances at her proved their minds were not on words. Lyet and Brone had their black-haired heads together, their conversation a soft hum mostly covered by the slow restart of louder customer talk.

Faelan stared at her, his purple eyes almost blank. He tended to swallow sharper emotions and bury them deep. He had explained, during one of their long-ago forest walks, that because he was the son of the rebel Leader, he could not afford to feel them at inopportune times and have them used against him and the rebellion. Shocked, she hugged him, wanting to return love and care to him through her embrace, but her younger self never understood the cost he spoke about. Her older self lived it.

Jetta arrived in a scurrying flurry of cloak and rush to get out of the rain. She popped her hood back and wound her hair about the back of her head as she soberly noted the reading corner.

“Jetta!”

“Dachs!” She bounded to the counter and hugged the barkeep, brief and tight. “I miss you! Linz is great, but they’re not you!”

More than one customer eyed the two with jealousy. How many realized Dachs knew so many interesting people?

“Can heat up your meal,” he said, jerking his head back to the kitchen. “Want some tea?”

“Yes, that would be grand. It’s cold out.” She hopped over to the reading circle, slipped the cloak off and draped it over the back of a chair before gracefully sitting down. She observed every face, set her chin in her palms, and waited expectantly for an answer to her unasked question.

“One of the rats staked Lanth,” Faelan said quietly, his black bangs hiding his purple gaze. Jetta stared, aghast, raised an eyebrow, and pursed her lips.

“Who would do such a thing?”

“She was friends with Miki, the rat that was killed,” Lyet said into the silence. “She decided the Lady was to blame and took out a one-metgal stake for assisting in murder.”

Lapis bitterly laughed in hopeless self-mockery at the disgusted, flabbergasted look that passed over Jetta’s face. “There are easier ways to kill oneself than lying to hunters about a stake,” she grumbled. “Or targeting Patch’s partner. I’d hope no one would be witless enough to take it, but there’s already been one attempt.”

“One attempt?” Faelan asked darkly, staring accusingly at her. Lapis shrunk down, but she knew she could not hide behind her thick hair like she did as a child.

“Not to worry, love. She was my stake. She failed spectacularly and ran away, and now she’s no longer a problem.” Jetta smiled brightly as Dachs slid her food to her, and she accepted the tea from Dani. “Thank you for taking care of me! It’s so nice, after being out in the cold all night.” She set the tea down, then turned about and dug through her cloak’s giant inner pockets for a large packet of papers. She handed them over the table to Faelan, who eyed them skeptically.

“There’s a lot more there than you think,” she told him quietly. “’Keepers will be there a while yet.”

She ate as he sifted through the pages, divided them, and handed half to Tearlach. Lapis glanced at the top one; a hastily scribbled explanation attached to a torn note that looked as if someone had dug it out of the garbage. She slid further down on the bench, absently playing with her gauntlet; if Faelan wished to share, he would have. She did not need more to worry about.

The rats drifted away, up to Rin’s room, the bad news drowning their reading excitement. Lyet accompanied them, but Lapis knew she wanted to stay, a silent but supportive presence.

“I’ll be fine,” she told her.

“Outwardly fine isn’t the same as inwardly fine,” Lyet reminded her somberly. “We both know it.”

Dani manned the bar as Dachs came over, sitting on Tearlach’s other side. The customers had dwindled as well, choosing to quickly rush home for an early night rather than stand outside and chat with friends in the cold rain.

“If you like, you can discuss things up in my place,” the barkeep offered, chaffing his small black curls at the base of his head. Jetta instantly brightened.

“I get to see your apartment? And all those Taangis shields you brag about?”

Dachs blushed brighter than a fire, quite the feat considering his deep sunset-brown skin, and mumbled something no one understood. Faelan gathered the papers with a soft laugh, and Tearlach rose and stretched. All four looked at her; she reluctantly joined them.