Following the route she had taken with Midir when they escaped Hoyt’s battle with Sir Adrastos, Lapis desperately tried to plan out something to say to Dagby and failed. Perben, Rin, death, refused to leave her thoughts. She stepped in line with the people who hurried to the dented metal awning nestled between tall, dull Dentherion-built, steel structures. It provided shade for chipped stairs with a warped center railing that led down three floors. No one bothered to cast her a look, but she kept her head down anyway, in case someone questioned her. Devastated chaser always attracted attention.

The cracked cement hallway with missing wall tiles had the same fruit oil lamps flickering in the breeze of hustling bodies. While a different man guarded the doorway, the crates sat in the same positions. She dug into her pouch and set two silver on the empty one; he choked, his eyes bulging.

“I’m looking for Granna Cup’s fire,” she said in a raw, raspy voice.

He pointed towards a red-painted boxcar that leaned to the left. “Head to that path,” he told her. “Jes’ keep goin’, til yah hit a large intersection. Take the one marked with a two. She’s at the next one. Always gots a fire there.”

“Thank you.” She strode purposefully in that direction; hopefully the dim lighting kept the ravages of crying from casual notice.

The illumination in Underville came from dozens of outdoor fires that poured brown smoke into the high ceiling, where it gathered in thick clouds, waiting for release. People huddled about them, some for warmth, some for cooking—and some for burning—food. Boxcars of various sizes and dilapidated states lined dirt pathways, with sliding doors and uneven windows gouged out of the metal sheets. Nicer cars had curtains, flowerbeds with twisted wooden blooms and folk art decor, brighter paint, welcome signs and mats. Others had boarded openings and closed doorways, and while Patch might dare enter them, Lapis’s unease struck as she passed them.

Granna Cup’s fire filled the center of the square, large and welcoming. Dozens sat about it, some cooking, some lazing, and several young children crouched in the dirt surrounding a bench with a couple of shanks, listening with rapt attention. Most eyed a commotion to the left; Lapis took a moment before she registered the two men. Nasty Siward, and Gid, Hoyt’s brother and enforcer. He stood two heads taller than other men, had muscles from tough manual labor, and carried a sword that would look ridiculously large attached to anyone else. The Grey and Stone Streets feared him because he did what he was told with ruthless, unthinking efficiency.

They had Granna Cup cornered against a sunny yellow door with four steps leading to it. She stood on the top stair, arms folded over a pristine apron, her wrinkles pulled down into deep grooves with her frown. Gid blocked the way, swaying back and forth, wringing his hands.

She did not bother to hide her dislike, and Siward’s snarly attitude expressed his disrespect.

Her day had just gotten better.

Lapis swaggered up, intent on the shorter, thinner man. Siward glanced at her, his grimace turning into a malicious smile when he realized her identity. He ran a hand over his short-cropped, sunburned scalp and took a step towards her.

“Well, now, the Lady of the hour.”

She decked him.

He fell with a startled squawk. Lapis kicked him hard enough in the temple with her boot, he sagged, unconscious. Gid turned, working through what had just happened, before reaching for his sword, his pouty lips pulled into a tiny smile.

She triggered her gauntlets. He froze, the blade halfway out of the battered, brown leather sheath.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Go ahead, improve my day.”

His eyes flicked to Siward, and he rocked back and forth, unable to decide whether to attack or care for his unconscious companion.

“Get off my stair,” Granna Cup snapped. He moved away, jittery, and tapped the fallen man with his boot. No response. He tapped harder. “He’s out cold,” the older woman said, annoyed. She skipped down the stairs, glanced at Lapis, then behind her; Rin and Yedin must have caught up. “You ever been to Underville before?” she asked.

“No,” Lapis said. “But I doubt Siward and Gid are welcome.”

“True enough. What do you need?”

She withdrew a silver and settled it in the woman’s palm. “I need to talk to Dagby.”

“Lots of folks want the same thing,” she said, her glinting brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I just want to give him a couple silvers, ask about Hoyt and Ambercaast, and then I’m gone.”

Granna Cup did not like her tone; she did not care. “This isn’t some Stone Streets shank neighborhood, Lanth,” she told her crisply. “You’ve no reputation here. No one cares about a few silver.” She threw the coin back at her. It bounced off her chest and landed in the dirt; one of the kids snagged it and took off.

No one cared about silver, did they? Lapis poured a few more into her hand and walked to the fire, holding it up. Every eye stayed plastered to her hand while the older woman fumed.

“I need to speak to Dagby.”

The undershank who looked to have swum across the river several times, nearly drowned and dried rumpled and muddy, eyed her. “What you want ‘m for?”

“I’ve been told he can help me with a little underground info. Might be better for him than talking to Siward.” She did not think Hoyt’s man shook Granna Cup down for kicks. Why did she express loyalty to a man who had spent at least five years in a drug den, breaking his brain and his body?

The man glanced at Granna Cup, who frowned in disapproval, then jerked his chin, rising. “Come on.”

Lapis stonily followed, alert. All eyes at the fire silently watched, then glanced behind her. She looked; no Patch, just her apprentices. Yedin’s discomfort screamed while Rin stared in troubled worry. Dammit. So much for a teaching opportunity. She smashed her lips together; how else might she screw up the day? Granna Cup was a chaser asset, and she just pissed her off—and the lady held grudges.

“Are you Dagby?” Lapis asked as the fire became a faint flicker between boxcars.

“Yeah. And you’re Lady Lanth.” He glanced behind him, but the typical distrustful fear she felt in the presence of hunters was absent. “Nice blades.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m bettin’ you want the same thing Siward wants.”

“Depends what Siward wants.”

He eyed her, then turned back around.

He led them to a larger boxcar, one surrounded by colorful metal folk art twisted into random shapes with hammered textures. A single fruit oil lamp hung at the blue door he opened. The interior surprised her; a cheery place with several lanterns, soft yellow paint in the kitchen, a pastel blue in the sitting area, and a green doorway leading to the bedroom space. The walls had scraps of paper and bark painted with bright blotches. A few bulbous cobalt flowers that bloomed at night sat in maintained ceramic pots and lined the wooden windowsills, filling the air with a soft, sensuous scent.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to all three of them. Lapis remained standing while Rin and Yedin sank onto makeshift crates. She could maneuver better with her feet on the ground. Dagby half-smiled at the lack of trust and settled in the single wooden chair next to the lop-sided table.

“So what does Siward want?” she asked.

“A man named Aethon,” he immediately replied.

“My supposed partner?” He raised an eyebrow at her; she poured the silver into his palm, enough to keep him civil, then stepped back out of stabbing reach. He rolled the money about as he regarded her with a startling sharp, fox-brown gaze.

“I don’t know where they dug up that name. If I did once, well, it’s . . . gone.”

“Fair enough. Do you know why?”

“Somethin’ to do with debts Hoyt owes.” He shrugged.

“I’m here about info on Ambercaast, not debts.”

“You’re after Hoyt.”

“He’s making my life a little Pitish right now.”

“Yeah. Along with half the underground.” He rubbed at his neck. “I’ve been sober about five months. Stopped huntin’. Hoyt had some stuff he wanted me to do. I said no. So he’s been sendin’ people to force me.”

“Siward didn’t recognize you, then.”

“Never met him. And my description’s changed.” He laughed at that, an odd, deprecating sound. “No more hand wringin’ and jerkin’ back and forth. No more paranoia. Funny. I never thought clean would feel good, but it’s steps higher than bein’ muddled. Fuzzy never drowned what I wanted drowned.”

This Dagby was not who she anticipated. She worried the man scammed her and wondered what she could use to prove his identity. “I’ve heard you think those who killed Danaea are after you.”

“Danaea.” He snarled. “Worthless shank. She stole my share of a rich stake. Didn’t realize it at the time, but once the drug wore off, I figured it out. She said I did nothing to earn a bit. I gave her the contacts she needed and didn’t even ask why, but that wasn’t enough. She threatened me with all sorts of things, so I let her be. Never wanted to see her again, so I made sure to remember she stiffed me. Put notes everywhere, as a reminder. I thought she’d leave me alone in return. She showed up on my doorstep at the beginnin’ of the year, tellin’ me she had a job she needed me to do. I told her to go sit in the Pit. She insisted. It was somethin’ dangerous, and other hunters already refused, but I had drug bravery. That convinced me I needed to stop the shit, permanently.” He leaned back with a world-weary sigh. “Did you know Dentheria has a pill that helps with brainbreak addiction?”

An idle question. “No, I didn’t.”

“Brainbreak replaces some brain transmitter thing. This pill does the same without the side effects. Lets your body recover and start producing whatever it is it needs to produce again. The Meint hand it out for free. I’m not gettin’ back what I lost, but these past few months, I remember better.”

So she should not expect him to recall much of past infidelities. “It’s good, you’re sober.”

“For all the good it’s goin’ to do me.”

“The past takes prisoners,” she agreed, Tievel’s partner bursting into memory. She ruthlessly suppressed it.

“You feel it to the depths of your guilt, don’t you.” He glanced out of the nearest window, muted sadness caressing his face. “I doubt I can resolve my soul, but life in a Dentherion state doesn’t make it possible.” He quietly stared for a moment. “Danaea had debts, too,” he said abruptly.

“Yeah. To Mibi.”

“Hoyt saw a way to get out of his debts and offered to pay hers off if she helped. They were goin’ to complete the stake she offered me. It had somethin’ to do with a court noble. He has debts too, you see. And he thought aquatheerdaal was goin’ to solve that problem.”

“You don’t know which noble?”

He shook his head. “I threw her out before she said much more. I didn’t want to get caught up in it.” He lounged down and rested the back of his head on the chair, his chin planted on his chest, still refusing to look at her. His long brown hair slid down and covered his face, protecting him from his memories. “She wanted my help because I’d been to Ambercaast and returned with aquatheerdaal. I don’t remember much about it. Some farmer showed me where it is, in the northern mountains. The mines . . . they’re not near the city ruins. There’s something about that, but I don’t recall what. And . . . someone’s already there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Granna Cup used to tell ghost stories to us grandkids, about the ruin. I kinda thought no one lived there, so it shocked me, when I went. Someone does, and they have advanced tech.”

“A syndicate?”

He shook his head. “No. Someone whose tech glows this blue color.”

“Like cyan?”

His head rolled over. “Yeah. You sound like you’ve seen it.”

“That attack out Blossom way a few weeks ago? The other side used it.”

“You know that’s a sign of Meergevenis tech.”

“Yeah.” Her stomach dipped at the confirmation of Faelan’s belief.

He nodded, then looked back out the window. “There’s a door,” he said drily.

“Your guests are getting more interesting,” Patch said, his voice muffled.

“Nothin’ new, there.”

Her partner quickly whisked in and closed the door. “Beyond Siward and Gid.” He eyed Lapis, and she glared back. “Nice punch.”

She snarled.

“Who’s lookin’ for me now?” Dagby sounded even wearier.

“Not sure, but they aren’t Black Hats. They’re sleek. I’d almost think syndicate, but they aren’t acting like any underground organization I’ve been in contact with in Jiy.”

“All this at once?” Dagby frowned, as if trying to work something out while his brain protested.

“Diz has a big mouth.”

The man studied her partner, then rubbed his face roughly. “Yeah, he does,” he agreed. “And he’s pretty certain, since I gave up huntin’, that nothin’s going to happen to him if he rats me out.”

Lapis frowned. “Really.”

“Give him enough bits, he’s a snitch,” Dagby said. “Except for known hunts. He hates gettin’ involved in those because he thinks he’ll end up a target.” He struggled to sit up. “Are they givin’ Granna Cup a hard time?”

“No. She told them Siward’s the man they’re looking for. They drug him off for a chat but left Gid. He just stood there and let them do it. I don’t know when he’s going to decide he needs to vacate.”

“You’re just here with Lanth?”

“Yeah, to ask questions.” The patch whirled before the edge lights drew a slower pattern. “Granna Cup says you’re sober.”

“As sober as I can get. I’m done huntin’. Not that it isn’t hauntin’ me, but . . .” He shook his head, his eyes deadening. “You want to know about Danaea? She had debts. You want to know about Hoyt? So does he. They hooked up with some court noble who thinks there’s enough aquatheerdaal still in Ambercaast he can pay off his debts. There’s somethin’ strange about Ambercaast. Meergevenis tech’s there. Maybe that’s why the ‘shroud’s here. I don’t know.”

“When did you visit?” Lapis asked.

He squinted at her. “Maybe four years ago? It was for some stake. Most of my recollection’s blank other than metal humans and traps with the cyan-colored tech. I don’t remember completin’ it. I brought back some aquatheerdaal, so maybe I did. I think I visited the mines. I don’t know where else I might have gotten it.”

“And the mines aren’t near the ruins,” Lapis said.

“I got wet.” He rubbed his forehead, staring absently at the ratty red rug with large holes. “Rememberin’ bein’ annoyed isn’t helpful.”

Her partner looked at the amount of silver in Dagby’s hand, then made a face at her. She glared harder. Greasing palms made her life much easier, and Faelan did not skimp on her bribe money.

“So I have time, if they think Siward is me.”

Patch folded his arms and regarded the man. “Yeah. You’ve done a good job looking like someone else. Your tics are absent, you have Underville grunge rather than slick Dentherion gear. Hair’s long, shaggier.”

“It’s a reflection of where I am.”

“Maybe. You’re being very generous with the info.”

“This is hauntin’ me, too, because of Danaea. Her lies are catchin’ me. It’s retribution, for a life ill-lived.”

“Her lies?”

Dagby frowned with deep annoyance. “I gave her contacts. Once. That’s it. She lied about that, lied about me. You know what she was like. Granna said she learned it from Klow and never righted her wrongs.”

“Klow?” Lapis asked while Patch snarled.

“Famous hunter in syndicate circles,” Dagby told her. “Went into asylum with the Beryl, so effectively disappeared maybe three years ago. His paws are all over huntin’ in Jiy. He trained most of the current ones. He’s nasty, they’re nasty. Taught them lyin’ works better than truth, taught them to kill before askin’ questions. Taught them they were at the top of the chain, let no one interfere. Extra bodies are just business.”

“He butchered the profession,” Patch agreed.

“The syndicates didn’t care,” Dagby grumbled. “He did too much for them. Of course, that was before Shara. When Adrastos took out the previous Minq underboss and she seized control, he fled. He knew she didn’t like his ways, and she’s done a lot to clean out the worst violators.”

“And those who remain leave the Minq alone,” Patch said wryly. “So there was a reason for that.”

“Suppose.” He weighed the silver in his hand. “I was too drug-fuzzed to care about what other hunters did. I do now. Too late.” He sounded distant, as if he spoke to another on a far-away hill but knew they would never hear him.

“It’s not. If it were, Granna Cup wouldn’t have let you back at her fire.”

“I’m her grandson. It’s a family obligation.”

“When has that ever changed her mind about anything?”

He blinked at that.

“You can’t hold out your arms and expect salvation to rain down. The priests like to lie to their followers about that because they imagine themselves as the savior granting divine light. You have to earn salvation, and it’s hard.”

“Too many want to shove me in the Pit, Patch.”

“Maybe not as many as you think.”

“I’m being hunted by Danaea’s killer.”

“Not hunted, chased, because she wanted to have this chat with you. You’re having it with me, instead.”

He squinted, digesting the news. “Not for retaliation.”

“If you had a larger hand in Ahebban’s death, maybe.”

“Ahebban?” He rubbed his temple, desperately trying to hide his confusion. “What do you mean?”

“That stake Danaea stiffed you on. That was for Ahebban.”

He looked like a small child whose puppy had just died, and rocked back and forth, agitated. “She hunted Ahebban? But . . . I never would have helped. Not if she’d told me. He . . . he and Granna were friends. I knew him. I’d . . . he was so kind. Never cared whether shank or shill. Never . . .” The silver tumbled through his fingers, and he slapped his palms over his eyes. The money tinged to the floor and rolled every which way, clattering loudly when one bounced across the metal instead of the carpet.

Gut-wrenching sobs, from an ashen, burdened heart.

“Who staked him?” he asked, words garbled.

“Don’t know, but the same person sent her after the rebel Leader,” Patch said.

Should they leave? Lapis doubted much more would come of the interview. His pain triggered her own, the same emotional punch that drove her as she stalked to Underville earlier, the same dread knowledge that stopping horrible things was beyond reach.

“I don’t remember much,” Dagby said. “I always visited Granna. Maybe I said somethin’. I’ll ask. I’ll send word.”

“Petition for asylum from the Minq,” Patch told him.

He laughed, hard and sarcastic. “And how am I supposed to afford that?”

“Give Shara something. She’s interested in finding Hoyt, and you know where Ambercaast is.”

Dagby looked up through tears. “She’d grant asylum for that.”

“Yeah. It’s a pressing issue. Take your granna with you. She’ll make an impression.”

Dagby wobbled his head around. “You know how she got her name?”

“No.”

“Shank killed her second daughter when she was a little girl. Found him and shoved a cup into his mouth and as far down his throat as she could. Choked him to death. Underground still hasn’t forgotten.”

Lapis shuddered. She did not want to keep picturing that.

“She told me that’s what hate breeds. She thinks that’s why I went huntin’. Hate. She told me it took decades for her to release the demon, and it rears back up, every so often. Never hate, she said. Your enemy isn’t worth your soul.”

“She still believes in souls?” Patch asked. He met Lapis’s eye; hate burned them both down, but opening their fingers and letting the flames fall away before they became cinders proved harder than suffering the burns. “Grab your granna, get to a Minq House. Do it now. Lanth and I can take care of the rest.”

Dagby glanced out the window, rubbing at his cheeks. “Who’s here?”

“Don’t know, yet. Take Rin and Yedin with you—and nothing better happen to them.” Dagby did not react to the threat. Her partner drilled a hole in the rat’s head. “Report to Faelan. This can’t wait.”

Rin scooped up the silver, shoved it at the shank as he unsteadily rose. Lapis tossed the pouch to the man; she had no care for the remaining funds. He dumped everything inside, then slid open the back panel near the bedroom door. The three jumped to the ground, and disappeared behind the next boxcar. Patch closed it and flopped into the ex-hunter’s chair, his stern expectancy pricking her unease.

“How many?”

“Five,” he said. “They have tech weapons glowing with charge. That triggered my parameters.”

“Wonderful.”

“They’re probably Black Hats,” he said.

“Why’d you tell Dagby to seek asylum?”

“Because I want him to lead us to Ambercaast so we can catch Hoyt.”

“What?”

Patch eyed her. “Most of this mess seems centered on him—even that Diros shit.” He rolled his eye and rage encompassed him. “My father,” he said, his tone dark, poisonous.

“I guessed that.”

“I bet debt’s driving Requet, too. He’s foolish enough to get in trouble that way. Wonder who holds the purse strings, that a Dentherion noble from a rich family’s jumpy about it.” His malicious smile drove her to worry. “Ambercaast is the fastest way to get answers. Corner Hoyt there, and we’re set.”

“Dagby mentioned metal humans and tech traps.”

“So? Do you really think those are real and not a drug-addled vision? It’ll be an easy in, find Hoyt, drag his sorry ass back to Jiy.”

“You just told Dagby to seek asylum with the Minq. They’re going to send people after him, too.”

“Fun and adventure in numbers. Maybe safer, too. We can get what we need from him before they take custody.”

“Because you have such a stellar reputation.”

“Who do you think Dagby’ll say suggested his asylum plea?”

His breezy attitude annoyed her. “What did you do with Perben’s friend?”

Bang. Bang.

“Shit,” Lapis muttered as Patch rose and swung the door open, grinning evilly.