Patch thought a secret entry into the House appropriate, and Lapis agreed. She did not want to encounter any rebel she did not have to; she had no illusions about her reception. She imagined Relaine had spent her absence spreading trash about her, an easy way to destroy her reputation while siding with rebel elites. It did not change the fact she chose the wrong side, and eventually, it would haunt her, but probably not that day.

The short tunnel, accessed by a nondescript cellar door attached to a shoddy mansion-turned-apartment building across the street to the east, already had lit torches, providing a warm and inviting entry. She had expected a far chillier initial reception. Patch closed the access, and they made their way through a once-tiled passage that, before the Dentherion invasion, servants had used to scurry between estate buildings. Lapis had not realized how many such repurposed tunnels existed until her partner began his renovations of the mansion, and she wondered how many thieves used them to stealthily enter wealthier Jiy premises.

Dread wormed through her with every step. She doubted many would believe her story, and she knew her tears and heartache would be used as a punch to discredit her. Meinrad, Rambart, the rebels who threw their lot in with them, needed to explain away their support for a traitor, and making her the bad guy, the true liar and conspirator, suited their wants.

They had not watched their little brother beheaded. They had not watched their best friend smashed by a mace. They had not watched the silent bodies of their family in coffins, had not smelled decomposing flesh mingling with the heavy smoke wafting from smoldering wood. They had not experienced the certainty that they, as a twelve-year-old, were not important enough to the rebellion for its members to care whether they lived or died. They had not fought the mind-breaking fear that they had no idea how to escape, how to live, beyond the confines of the smoking remains of their childhood home.

They had not dug their fingers into the rough, slicing bark of the tree they sat in for three days, the only way they could feel something other than panic, while Kale’s men laughed over the remains of their family, their life.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“How many rats will remain safe, if I don’t?”

“All of them.”

She sucked in a trembling breath before shoving her fist against her forehead and digging her knuckles in. No. She could mourn later. She could cry and scream and stomp in some secluded back alley, with no one other than Patch to hear, releasing hate and rage and the seething certainty that her family’s memory deserved sweetness and melancholy, not indifferent abuse.

Patch grabbed her and held her; she buried her face in his chest and fought the ghosts that snagged her, forcing her back into the darkest despair. She relived the terror of her realization that Faelan had abandoned her, and that she had to somehow reach safety wearing a tattered dress, ripped slippers, carrying no weapon or food, alone.

“Why do you think your tears will change their mind?” he asked softly. “Ripping your chest open for all to see won’t make them reasonable. It won’t make them stop supporting Perben.”

“My family deserves representation.”

“They’re dead. Representation won’t make a difference in that.”

She wanted to strike him in protest, and he knew it, too, because his arms tightened.

“Nothing you do will convince them of your sincerity or pain. Their concern is with their wealth, social standing and how much you being alive will inhibit their Blue Council abuses. Otherwise, Ailis’s evidence would have already swayed them.” He pulled back and cupped her face before she could yank away. “I need to talk to Brander first. Come with me, think about it.”

So serious, intent, with icy anger sliding about beneath. “You don’t think I should give them the satisfaction.”

“No. The only reason for them to call you is to gloat over your pain.”

But . . . she needed her family’s deaths, Neola’s death, to mean something. Their final agony stood as testament to Perben’s treachery. It had shaped her life over the last eight years and demanded redress.

Patch clasped her hand, and she forced her reluctant feet to move. She should have expected his words; he rarely allowed her to wallow in her delusions for long, even when she despised him for destroying her small bits of fantasy. Sometimes she wondered, if he ever felt pleasure in anything, a silly ponderance because she knew he did. Small, insignificant things, like when she gave him a hand-made chalice for his birthday the previous year, brightened him in a way larger happinesses, like rebel recognition, did not. She wanted to experience those larger happinesses with him, but he recoiled from them, as if they burned.

They slipped from the hidden doorway near the House room they occupied, into a dead-silent hallway.

They froze. Not quite dead-silent; the muffled laughter of children drifted to them.

“No one’s here!” a rough, older man’s voice called, echoed by the stomp of metal on wooden floorboards. It sounded as if it came from the front door, muted but brash.

Patch touched his patch and the circular ornaments about the edges blazed to life, bright blue light chasing itself around the leather. “Dammit.” Rage and disbelief. “The only heat I see is from the kids and from the front—and there are enough people there, it’s a palace raid.”

“The kids!” The rebels left the children? How—

“Lapis, get them out of here.”

“But—”

“If the guards get near enough, I’ll distract them.”

“Patch!”

“We don’t have time.” He kissed her roughly and streaked down the hallway.

She raced towards the large, brightly lit, sparse room that held one large, rush-padded mat and a collection of small objects Vivina dragged along to each section of the house the daycare landed. They moved about often, alighting in various spaces until the residents became irritated enough that they moved on, spreading the noise and the annoyance around. Patch said the movement ensured that anyone targeting the young ones would have a more difficult time finding them; Lapis thought it a way to aggravate each rebel living in the House by turn.

Her heart pounded so hard in her throat, she could barely breathe, let alone make sound. She streaked into the room, saw the small bodies racing about in play, caught the nearest child at the stomach, and pushed herself into the center of the room.

The five-year-old squirmed, and she set her down before clapping her hands four times—four times to signal that danger approached and that the children needed to be quiet and listen.

The older kids stumbled to a halt, while the younger followed their lead. Vivina rushed up, angry, and Lapis stared at her.

“The palace is here. We need to go.”

Vivina curled her lip. “The alarm—”

“They left you,” she said shortly. They had no time to argue. “The rest of the House is empty. Grab the babies.”

The children crowded around her, the oldest, Bren, only twelve. Twelve. Franziska was younger, at eleven, and the rest . . . She lined them up according to age, then paired off the younger children with older ones. Vivina firmed her shoulders and drew a huge breath, ready to yell.

“Lapis. There’s a designated rebel who—”

“Search the ground floor first.”

The amplified, bored shout crackled, the distortion sounding as if the man stood blocks away, but the intent was clear. Vivina’s instant, dumbfounded fear washed over her; Lapis grabbed her arm, turned her about, and shoved her toward the babies. She shuffled to them, too slow; Bren and Franziska rushed over, scooping up the two youngest—one nearly a year old, the other not quite able to walk—and scurried back to their charges, leaving the baby bags for the woman to carry.

Lapis put her finger to her lips and placed a hand on Franziska’s thin shoulder. “We’re going to the lower level hiding place. You’ve all been there, right?” Most nodded. One five-year-old put his finger in his mouth and simply stared. How was she going to get fifteen children and Vivina out of there if someone had used that escape route and locked the door on the way out? No. She possessed more luck than that. “Bren, lead the way. If we do it really quietly, I’ll give you all candy.”

The younger children perked up, and she trotted over to grabbed Vivina’s sweets bag before planting herself at the far door. Bren led them past, firmly resolute. The older children kept glancing at her, anxiety in their wide eyes, a few with trembling lips. She patted each one on the shoulder, smiled softly, and tried not to wince at the array of shuffling noises erupting from tiny feet. Fortunately, that remained the only noise. Vivina had insisted that the children train for such an occasion, despite Baldur’s hmphing disapproval, and the familiarity of escape did not instill the terror that she expected. Not a single child had cried out—yet. Once they left the familiar confines of the House and entered the darker tunnels, she anticipated fear and tears.

Vivina hurried past and Lapis took the rear, wracking her brain, trying to think of a haven for them as they methodically trooped to the small, secluded niche at the end of a short hall, and its rickety stair leading to a once-cellar-turned-storage-area. The designated escape House was too far for them to reach as a group. Their odd size would alert authorities, who would immediately investigate because they walked within the area of the raided rebel House.

The palace did not care who died in their lust to eradicate rebels.

The door was unlocked, and Lapis thanked the non-existent gods for that boon. She brushed past the line as Bren hopped down into darkness and snagged a glass lantern from the pile lying to the side of the cellar door, lighting it with the provided lighter; at least she did not have to worry about fumbling with flint and steel. She handed it to the ten-year-old who walked after Franziska, another to a nine-year-old, and one to Vivina, whose stern anxiety bothered her. The children would catch her fear, and they had enough problems.

She lit one for herself as the children moved past, one by one, the old wood creaking and groaning, but holding under small feet. A couple looked up at her; she provided a warm smile and soft encouragement, and firmly set her terror into the back of her head. If she lost her calm, they all died.

Vivina rocked back and forth, clutching the bag to her chest as a few whimpers from the kids below echoed up. Her breathing hitched, and her bottomless brown eyes quavered with tears. The gut-punch of incredulous terror that no one had alerted her to the raid hit her hard, and the helplessness that followed was a hard emotion to swallow.

Lapis knew that all too well.

She still could not believe, no one had thought of the kids. Patch said that the rest of the House had fled, meaning they knew beforehand about the raid and evacuated. Had they not rung the emergency bell? Why install one if the rebels refused to use it when danger came? Had Vivina just missed it? Why had no one double-checked on the young ones?

As a safety measure, Brander and Sherridan designated rebels to make certain each House section had been evacuated before they left, and if the children were present, to help them escape. Who had been on duty for these rooms? Someone screwed up and fled, rather than do their job.

Vivina scurried down the stair after a quick glance at her, and sympathy at her desperation roared up and filled her.

Why had Baldur left his beloved daughter behind?

Lapis pulled the door shut and grabbed the lock; she hesitated, because if Patch followed them, he might need the escape route. But no. She needed to protect the kids, and he would assume she had locked the exit. She clicked it in place, fighting reactionary tears, and headed down the stairs to face the group.

Vivina had lined them against the far wall, holding hands. They stood in a small space that once had shelving; the rotting wooden walls contained large nail holes as proof. The dirt floor led to a dark, musty tunnel blocked by another door; taking that route would lead them too near the front door, and she could not take the chance the children would remain unnoticed.

She walked to the right-hand wall, holding the light up to the wood and carefully searching for the small crack Patch had so carefully covered with thin paint, her mind focusing on the escape routes. Had Perben anticipated this raid? That might explain why he boarded up so many of them after Relaine showed them to him. Had Brander and Sherridan unblocked them all? Or had someone else continued the traitor’s duplicitous work?

Smiling slightly as her burdens got in the way, she set the candy and lantern down. Her fingers probed the long crack, breaking through the paint, but her tips were too wide to touch the hidden button. She withdrew one of her small throwing blades and rammed it through the narrow hole. After pressing down, hard, she heard a quiet click from her left. She yanked the knife out and put it in her gauntlet before retrieving the candy and lantern and heading to the door that had opened behind the kids. They turned, surprised, as she pushed the wooden barrier open with her shoulder. Bren gave her a fathomless look; she handed the child with him her lantern and shooed them inside. They stepped into the darkness beyond, followed by the others, and she counted them to make certain no one remained behind before she slunk through and closed the wall.

The lamps lit the narrow tunnel well, but shadows still hung about them. She heard the beginning gulps of children ready to cry and the sniffles of one who already shed tears. “Are you holding hands?” she asked in a calm, conversational voice. She heard a scattering of affirmative answers. “Alright. Everyone, follow Bren. Bren, the tunnel ends in a room. Walk straight ahead until you see the next set of stairs. OK?”

“Alright,” he called.

She heard one of the younger children begin to cry and Franziska shushed her.

“MY DOLL!”

Doll. Lapis gritted her teeth to keep herself from yelling at the distraught child as Franziska cooed. The child wailed, and she fought the urge to grab her and slap her hand over her mouth. She needed to be quiet! Lapis doubted the enemy searched near enough to hear, but houses had strange ways of carrying sound.

The older children did more shushing, which did not appease the little girl. Lapis looked at the bag of candy in her hand—she could not give that to the child to hold.

“Vivina.” The woman produced a small, squeaky sound, and she felt oddly sad for instigating it. “Is there a toy in the baby bags?”

She stared at her, trying to collect her thoughts. Dammit. Lapis snagged the top of one; yes, a small soft toy sat in there with the diaper things. She grabbed it and handed it to the kid in front of her.

“Pass this up.”

The little girl, surprisingly, stopped crying once she held it. Lapis breathed a sigh of relief as the straggling line moved on. Vivina ran-scooted at the end, clutching the bags shut again. Lapis fell into step behind her, withholding a sigh because she understood the instinctual need to run. That would only panic the kids, and the last thing she needed was to calm down a handful of screaming, terrified young ones while attempting to lead them to safety. Her chest tightened as she thought of Patch confronting the palace men, one against armed foes.

She could not lose him in that way. She could not go through the pain of her dearest ones being butchered again.

The walk to the next room took a lifetime, though Lapis knew it only crossed under the street. By the time she exited the tunnel, the kids had lined up against the wall, and Vivina stood awkwardly with them, her attention on a flat trap door reached by a short set of stairs. Lapis went to the opposite wall and stuck her fingertips into the large cracks between the appropriate grey bricks. Only a few days had passed since she had shown Faelan how Patch hid keys behind loose stones. Had he used the route she had shown him, or had he escaped with other Jiy rebels? Had he even been in the House? Jarosa had mentioned that she needed to avoid the place, so he might have had other accommodations to coincide with hers. She hoped so; she did not want him to fall to the palace like the rest of their family.

She pried the brick out with effort, grabbed the key, and replaced it in the wall. She hustled to the door and unlocked it, then slowly pushed the heavy slab of wood up and against the back wall. A very short tunnel ended in a ladder that led up. She motioned to Bren, who hurried up the stairs.

“Bren. There’s a stick poking out from the wall at the top. Pull it. It’s going to lead into a narrow room that has two large windows. Go ahead and line the kids up against the wall when they get up there.” She took the baby from him and looked at his partner. “Can you handle the light and the ladder?”

“Yes,” he said confidently. Good for him. She squeezed his shoulder and smiled. They scampered to the ladder and made their way up far faster than she anticipated. Bren opened the door, and light showered down, illuminating the ladder. At least the kids did not have to worry about finding the next tread.

“The rest of you.” Everyone looked at her. “Bren’s opened a door above the ladder. There’s a lot of light, so you should be able to see really well while you climb up the ladder. If you have a lantern, you can leave it down here so you can use both hands to climb up. OK?”

The kids did as she asked, though the younger ones had to stretch to reach the treads. She felt terrible for taxing them so—but they had no choice. The pace was excruciating at times, with older kids helping the littler ones, so she purposefully spoke using low, calm tones to urge them on, more to keep herself centered than them quiet. After Vivina shuffled to the ladder, she hopped down the stairs, blew out the lanterns, returned up, closed the door, and locked it from their side.

She clambered up the ladder, holding the babe tight against her chest, then pulled the scraggly, broken-twig lever at the top. The door creaked shut. She returned the baby to Bren before handing out candy to the antsy children, who calmed as they popped the sweet into their mouths. She settled the bag below the nearest window and raised her hand.

“Alright, everyone. We’re on a roof. How many of you have ever been on a roof?”

Only Bren raised his hand.

“Alright. The windows lead to a really nice flat patio.” She held up her index finger. “The flat patio may be nice, but we need to get to the next roof over. Before we do that, I’m going to need to take a look around. You can sit down if you want. And if you ask nicely, Vivina might give you more candy.”

“OK,” came the chorus.

The woman jerked, startled. How fortunate, Lapis led them; she had the feeling Vivina could never have managed an escape with fifteen children by herself. She had trained for this, too, right along with the kids. If the rebels continued to employ her as a babysitter, they needed to assign another person as an aide who did not fall apart during emergency situations.

“Lapis,” Bren asked, worried, as he glanced over at Vivina. The woman’s whitened fingers clutched the bags so tightly, Lapis did not think she could uncurl them.

She leaned closer to whisper. “Try to keep everyone quiet. I know this is hard, but you’re doing great, Bren. You’ve kept the baby quiet and led everyone up here. Patch will be so proud, when he hears about this.”

He perked up. “Really?”

“You’re afraid but still working hard to save the other kids. Of course he’ll be proud.”

The kids loved Patch. He visited their classroom every so often to help conduct escape practice, and they crowded about him and asked him questions, and he sometimes told them stories. It meant something for them to have his approval, though she spoke nothing but the truth. Bren’s courage had made her task easier.

Lapis opened one of the squeaky windows and stepped onto the flat, grungy area large enough for two to dine in comfort while watching the sun set. She looked to the slanted grubby-brown tiles on her left; up and in the center of the roof was the long, wide board large enough to span the distance between the patio and the building next door. Who had moved it? Patch had constructed a kind of draw bridge from it, attaching hinges to the bottom and a long rope to the top, allowing an interested party to lower it to the other side. She noted the torn wood where the hinges had once been and winced. Sabotaged.

A swift scan verified no one else stood on any of the nearby structures. She hunched down and crept to the crumpled gutter; while the alley held no one, she noted a lot of movement to her right, in the direction of the House. Palace guards, dressed in brown and maroon, mingled with dark blue soldier uniforms; a crowd grew, the residents of the Grey Streets standing on tip-toe along the walkway, trying to see what was happening up the street.

Sucking on her lower lip to keep herself calm, she toured the edges; all streets had some sort of palace presence on them. She had to get the kids across the roof, and quickly, so they could continue their flight before more soldiers and guards arrived.

She ran a hand through her bangs, studying the gap in front of her. The board was thick and heavy, and she could not move it into place without help. Vivina needed to stay with the kids, and Bren and Franziska were too weak. The twang of uncertainty threatened to explode into helplessness. How was she going to get fifteen young children safely across?