Ciaran warned her of it. Lapis expected it. But staring at the two stiff, offended ex-rebels who hunted her down on Meinrad and Rambart’s behalf sent a shudder of revulsion through her. Good thing they had caught her on her way back from her presentation to the visiting rebel leaders, because she did not want them anywhere near the new House.
She slipped bits into Drow’s hand and jerked her head at him and Maci; since the Dentherion tourist money had dried up, the Lells urchin sellers had a tougher time than normal making enough to purchase food. During the winter, that could prove a deadly combination and even a bit or two from her would help. They cast the unwanted interlopers guarded glares before trotting away.
“Well?” The taller one asked, focused on the street rats. She recognized him as one of Perben’s friends who had attempted to subdue her when she confronted the traitor, and her goodwill towards him had died on that act.
“Well, you’re in luck. I have something for them.” She forced her best Lady Lanth sarcastic smile and vowed to send one of the reading circle kids to check on Drow and Maci later. They were not easy catches, but she did not trust the lackeys to behave if Meinrad and Rambart wanted to force her to talk to them and saw kidnapping street rats as an incentive.
“Something for them?” the taller asked, in a distracted way that meant he found more interest in the rats than was safe for them.
“You can retrieve it at the Eaves.”
“Convenient,” the taller said, focusing on her with a sneering smile. To the Pit with them. The two she most wished to avoid must have made another ill-advised trip to the tavern and badgered Dachs about her whereabouts. She should have told him about the letter, then he could have retrieved it, then not-so-nicely booted them into the street.
Shoving her hands into her pants pockets, she continued on her way through the early evening shadows, her neck and arm hair prickling because she turned her back on the enemy. She strained to hear the faster crunch of boots on the frozen mud, wishing she had her chasing gauntlets with her, but no, she had thought the jaunt between the Eaves and the House did not warrant the protection. Though not as exceptional as the pair Patch gave to her, they would keep her safe from two ex-rebels and their lackluster leaders.
Still, maybe she needed to talk to Faelan and see if he could push Sils into fixing them faster. The modder had looked at them before she departed the workstation, winced, then said he would send them on after he decontaminated them. He did not seem hopeful about a quick return.
She entered the front door rather than the back, a deliberate choice so Dachs would notice her and her company. His baleful glare landed on her, and recognition zipped through his brown eyes as he beheld the two trailing her. She thought one whimpered, but she did not turn to look.
“Keep an eye on them, will you?” she asked before skimming the length of the bar and glancing at Meinrad and Rambart sitting at one of the tall tables, their horde of guards surrounding them and keeping other customers from a seat. Meinrad slid off his stool and faced her with pompous indignation, but she shook her head, wagged her finger, and continued to her room.
Rin and Lyet stood in the doorway to the stairwell, arms folded, eyeing the unwanted guests with fierce dislike and flared noses. She made a negative sound deep in her throat before hustling up the stairs; she did not want them to confront the crew because Dachs would be too happy to join, and a row would ensue. No guard attention was the best guard attention in these uneasy times.
She snagged her chaser gauntlets, then the envelope, and hustled back down to the commons room before the charged air turned violent. The regulars and the unwanted ex-rebels silently eyed each other, shifting from one foot to another, and Dachs had straightened, cracking his knuckles and looking like a wolf ready to obliterate the cornered cows.
She held up the envelope, seal facing them, and tossed it onto the table in front of Rambart, ignoring Meinrad’s jowl-heavy scowl and his attempt to hover over her. Girth was not the threatening aspect he believed it was. Plush-wrapped softness had nothing on hard khentauree hate.
“What is this?” Rambart asked, his deep frown causing even more wrinkles to mar his gaunt face.
She shrugged and sat at the back table with Phialla and Ness, who had books out and their noses in the pages, pretending studiousness, and Scand and Brone, who did not bother to hide their distrust as they stared at the uninvited visitors. She fought the urge to slump; if the men had an adverse reaction to the note, she would need to reach them before Dachs.
“You haven’t read it?” Rambart asked.
She raised an eyebrow; no broken seal meant no, she had not read it. Lyet joined Scand and Brone while Rin moved to stand next to her, unintimidated by a potential fight with nearly a dozen people older and better trained than him.
“You got what you wanted,” Dachs growled. No one doubted the warning meanness in his voice. “Get out.”
Nice, that he did not toss them into the street by the scruff of their necks. Too bad they could not appreciate his self-control.
Rambart ripped the paper apart and stared at the insert. Meinrad leaned over and his immediate fall to magenta-faced fury did not shock her, though she wished they would cart themselves somewhere else to express it.
“Wait?” he howled. “Support?”
He whirled and pointed a two-ringed finger at her; she again shrugged. Dachs rounded the bar, shoving his sleeves higher on his arms, ready for a physical fight. He may not match Varr in absolute strength, but that was not a notch against him. She had witnessed him pick up heavier men by collars and belt loops and heave them into the streets with a lot of swearing, a modicum of effort, and glorious seething.
No one bested the barkeep in his tavern.
“Get out.” His growl tore through the silence. “I won’t repeat myself again.”
Resentment burned the air like fire-lit rotting vegetables, but the two ex-leaders gathered themselves, wrapped their embroidered coats around their middles, and left with expressions that would have done the nobles in Green Castle proud. Of course, both had estates and money outside the rebel organization, and their fury reflected the affront they believed they suffered at lesser hands.
“Lady,” Dachs said, smacking his palms together as regulars swarmed the area vacated by the unwanted guests. Rik and two others remained near the door, their stiff postures and dark glares the impetus the ex-rebels needed to vacate quickly.
She held up a hand and waited until the last man walked through the exit. “Before you ask, no, I don’t know what it said. Ciaran told me not to speak with them, just give them the letter. That’s what I did.”
“Too nice, Lady. Nuisances don’t belong here,” he muttered.
A scattering of laughter accompanied the proclamation because the barkeep—and therefore the regulars—put up with far too many ‘nuisances’ like shanks and tourists.
“You didn’t even peek?” Rin asked, dubious, scrunching his nose.
“No, I’m not as nosy as you. But I’m sure we can all guess what they read.”
“Your brother has a way with words,” Dachs admitted in wry admiration. She chuckled.
“That he does. And I’ve experienced more than my fair share of them.” She winked at him. “And now so, too, has Rin, the annoying little brother who hitched a ride to where he shouldn’t have.”
“He yelled at me, too,” Scand muttered glumly, rubbing at the back of his head.
“Will you do it again?”
The guilt, quickly replaced by stubborn rat pride, proved her point.
Customers who had waited outside for the ex-rebels to leave filtered inside. Three made their way to the back, one grinning wide, one hesitant, one with a courier’s sack that bulged as if he shoved a bookshelf’s worth of paper into it.
“Lady!” Fawn jumped to her and held up two glass containers with a decorative swath of cloth tied around the top. “Muwrie wanted you to have these. She said she’s selling at that new farmer’s market outside Blossom way, and she’s making enough off her winter crop she thought she’d send a thank-you for setting it all up.” She grinned, her cheeks reddening to the color of her hair.
“I didn’t have much to do with it,” she said as she accepted the jam. Muwrie grew dazzlesnow during cold weather, and Lapis loved the rich sweetness of the white berries. Wrethe chuckled and set his bag on the table with a soft thump before smoothing his wispy white strands back from his twitching face.
“If you hadn’t met Yedin, his grand-da wouldn’t have been at the Fools and Ghouls festival where he met the Minq and set up produce couriers through them, nor would he have traveled to small villages like Wraygrey looking for farmers willing to sell at his unconventional, outcity market just as the snows hit. And, surprisingly, they’re doing better than they have in years—and Emmer’s sung your praises as being the one who made it all happen. Muwrei figures you paved the way to a tidier profit.”
“Well, I’m not going to turn away dazzlesnow jam.” She glanced at Rin. “See if Dalia has bread, would you?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding at Jerin before he took himself behind the counter. The lad sagged, relieved, as if he expected a harsh confrontation that did not materialize. Rin might still harbor resentment towards him, but considering the broader problems confronting them, a petty conflict with a nice enough kid was a shallow, unwanted distraction.
Dachs eyed the fare, and she held up the glass. “Want some?”
“Can’t turn down dazzlesnow jam,” he said with a huge grin, though his anger lingered in his eyes.
“Dachs, thank you, and I’m sorry they’ve caused so much trouble.”
He patted her arm with good-natured acceptance. “Lady, I may have retired, but my heart’s still with your brother—especially now that things are grim. I’d do more than bash a few traitor heads together to realize a better future.” He glanced at the bar and hustled behind it, to serve those whom the ex-rebels prevented from enjoying the start of their evening.
She motioned for the three arrivals to join her. “How are you doing, Fawn, Jerin?” she asked as they snagged chairs.
“We went shopping!” Fawn crowed. “Da bought me a dress that has all this embroidery, and I’m going to wear it to the Seventh Night bonfire!” She hugged her grand-da before plopping into a seat.
While Seven Nights was a religious holiday meant to guilt the wealthy into pouring monies into the Seven Gods’ temple coffers, the poorer citizens of Jilvayna threw bonfire celebrations on the final night. They exchanged gifts, danced, sang, told tales, and welcomed the dawn with a banquet before carrying themselves home to sleep the day away. Some of the collaborative festivities were Night Market-esque in their elaborate, temporary stalls and the food on offer. The Lells threw a party, and while not as popular as Fools and Ghouls, it drew crowds and pickpocketing urchins.
“Did you get something, Jerin?” Lapis asked. He nodded as he cautiously settled into a chair.
“Yes, a heavy shirt and indoor jacket and a warmer coat. The country is a lot colder than the city.”
She grinned at that. “Is that what brought you to Jiy?”
“I’ve something for your friends, actually,” Wreathe said, patting the bag as he sat with a groan. “These old bones and snow,” he grumbled. “Don’t get along like they used to.”
“We’ll get you some tea and food to warm you up.”
Dalia rushed up, intent on the glass jars. “Is there enough bread for everyone?” Lapis asked.
“Made fresh this morning,” she said. “We’ve biscuits and breaded meat and gravy, so should go fine with that.” Humming, she gathered up the jam and hopped back to the kitchen.
Goodwill from sharing was gold in the Grey Streets. Lapis knew how good Muwrie’s dazzlesnow jam tasted, and she bet Dalia would convince Dachs to purchase more once they had a bite.
“While we wait, can you share a bit or two?” she asked, leaning forward towards Wrethe.
“Some.” He dropped his voice low enough that the rats quieted so they could eavesdrop. “The three of us, we decoded the entire lot of Danaea’s documents using Path’s notes. You need to have a chat with Mibi. Looks like he’s the primary go-between for someone called Kez out of Taangis. She’s been the one putting up money so he can make loans to the desperate, then force them to do things they didn’t want to do.” Jerin studied the tabletop, though by his tenseness, she wondered how much Wrethe had told him about the true nature of his mother’s work. She still did not think he was prepared to accept that the loving woman he thought was a jeweler instead hunted for the underground. “Not only that, seems this Kez has an interest in Ambercaast, and there was talk about a rival faction . . . Lady? You alright?”
She nodded, her stomach knotting in nausea. “Did Kez have a first name?”
“Mesaalle. She went by the Golden One in official correspondence, but Danaea just called her Mesaalle in her notes.”
She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to scream. When had the woman first dug her nails into Jilvayna? “Lady Mesaalle Kez,” she whispered. “Let’s just say, I haven’t met her, but we’re acquainted.” A weak, pathetic smile was still a smile, and she hoped she regained good cheer when the dazzlesnow jam hit her tongue. “If you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you to see our friends.”
“Not at all,” he said. He leaned even closer. “I can get Dentherion news,” he murmured, so serious her heart ached. “I know how dire it is.”
Hopefully the jam provided him a bright spot in an otherwise dark evening as well.
