“Ah, the Lady of the hour.” Siward tried to snarl like the confident guttershanks who had muscle to back up their disrespect, but his reddened blue eyes twitched before he finished. Nervous, was he?

He should be. She thought the janks had killed him, tossed him in the Pit. No reason not to follow through on that mistake and let the carrion lizards chew on his bones.

“What do you want?” the guard with the pink hat asked, her annoyance coating her from head to toe.

“Not talkin’ to you,” the shank said, focused on her and Patch. “Heard you was up here, doin’ charity work.”

“Isn’t that what I normally do?” Lapis asked, her voice thick with the boredom she wanted to portray, annoyed he so easily dismissed the guard. The Night Market security did not hesitate to dump shanks on their asses outside the establishment; the owners made too much money from providing a safe place to eat and entertain to allow the rough and rowdy their way when they got snarly.

Siward sucked in a breath, but his backup bumped him, and he staggered further onto the roof. The messenger glared back, but took himself out of the larger shank’s way.

Gid had his sword with him, a giant blade that would have looked ridiculously oversized on a man of average height and build, but he wielded it with ease. Instead of pulling the weapon to intimidate, he shoved his gloved hands into his armpits, hunched his shoulders, and whimpered. His cheeks and nose blazed red with cold, and his short-cropped black hair ruffled around his head, providing no warmth; while his muddy grey, knee-length coat looked cozy, he apparently did not think so.

Next to him stepped Eb, dressed in blue-dyed suede with fur sewn into the cuffs, hem and hood. While shorter, rounder, and slower than Gid, he had enough muscle to beat the unsuspecting into submission. He carried an axe, which Patch said took so long for him to swing, he normally missed the fight—but when he struck, his target ended up in the Pit.

Grey and Stone Streets claimed that both were Hoyt’s siblings, which explained their high positions in his ring despite having no organizational skills and even less of a leadership personality. They excelled as enforcers, though, and kept their ring a known entity throughout Jiy, rather than a sewer-run bit show even street rats laughed at.

Siward cleared his throat and wormed his arms to adjust his trench before running both hands over his cropped hair. He looked as crimson as a sunset beneath the buzzed, straw-like points, and she wondered why; the snowy seasons were not ones during which skin casually burned. Had he been elsewhere?

“Are you here to see Lanth or the ‘shroud?” Patch asked. He sounded dead. Siward flinched, worry knitting his brows, before his gaze drifted to the far peak. He blinked, squinted, blinked again. Gid and Eb looked beyond the rooftop, and Eb’s eyes widened. Gid took longer, but when he finished staring, he looked at his brother, pouty lips frowning, eyebrows curving up in stress.

“Rekarsius’s mercy,” Rambart breathed. Both he and Meinrad trembled as they viewed the sight; they obviously had not seen the crash yet. “We . . . we heard things.” The wind did not cause the sheen of tears to prick his eyes.

“Gall and his noble sycophants are dead,” Lapis said. “So are a lot of servants and household staff in mansions downslope. A few escaped.” The ex-rebel should realize, if Faelan had died when the ‘shroud crashed, she would not be on the roof directing people to the community centers. She would be at the rebel mansion, drowning in guilt, shame, and emotional agony for not saving him from Gall’s malicious games.

“What we gonna do?” Gid asked. Eb hissed at him to shush, and his confusion churned harder.

“Who escaped?” Siward rubbed at his stubble, as sour as a frog looking for water. “No one coulda outrun that.”

“Janks did, mercenaries did.” Lapis shrugged. What the shank thought was of no consequence to her.

“What we gonna do?” Gid poked Eb, who swatted at him.

Siward glanced back and edged away from his buddies; he was a messenger, not an enforcer, and if he annoyed them enough, his feet did not possess the speed to evade their violence. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared. “Lady, we’s gonna talk.”

“You really don’t do anything beyond what’s ordered, do you?” Patch asked, shifting so he leaned against her and not on his left hand. The guard with the pink hat snickered, and Siward flared his nostrils at her mockery.

“Pretty certain Burdick told you to stay away,” the wake juice guard said, swinging his drink between his fingers.

“Burdick wants to fall on the wrong side of Hoyt?” Siward asked, lifting his lip. Did he have any other intimidating expressions?

“He threw Cimis out, and Cimis promised the same thing,” the guard said, taking a swig. “And Hoyt didn’t bother then, when his prize enforcer complained. Why would he bother now?”

“Changin’ times,” he said, rocking onto his heels. “We’s movin’ up, not wallowin’ in the Streets.”

“Moving up?” The pink-hatted guard rose and lifted her tech so the tip pointed skyward. “I don’t care about underground fights and ring clashes. If you’re done gawking at the ‘shroud, leave so others can come up.”

“We’s talkin’ to the Lady,” Siward insisted.

“You’re not talking to me, you’re talking at me,” Lapis said. “And since I’m not eager to enjoy your company, that’s as far as it’s going to get.”

“You talk to us, ‘r you talk to the Beryl. Your choice.”

“The Beryl?” the guard asked, then blew through her teeth in disgust. “You know what the Beryl are doing?” She jerked her thumb at Green Castle. “They’re fighting the Minq and losing. If that’s your moving up, you might want to just move on. Hoyt’s not up to Shara, in any possible scenario.”

“Shara ain’t no leader,” Siward declared.

“Do you know who Shara is?’ Patch asked, stretching his legs before slapping his thighs and rising.

“Minq boss. So what?”

“Shara’s Jo Ban Jano’s granddaughter. And since he’s the Jilvayna terrboss for the Minq, she holds more sway in Jiy than any other underboss.” He raised his arms and clasped his hands over his head. “A lot more.”

Siward pressed his lips together, and Lapis wobbled between shock that he did not know and incredulity that Hoyt’s people remained so uninformed about the underground in their base city. While Shara was a newish underboss, she had stood as the Minq leader in Jiy for a few years and had already made an impression on the underground by refusing to put up with common shank rougery.

“I mean, Mibi took off when she targeted him,” Patch said before rolling his head around. “Do you think he’d leave Jiy unless someone with more clout forced him out?”

“Beryl’s targeted her.”

Patch laughed, sharp and disdainful. “Klow’s not a leader, and he’s going to find out that the asinine choices he made as a hunter won’t keep him alive long enough to regret making them as a boss.”

Siward’s grin did not match the angry glitter in his eyes. “He’s just wantin’ somethin’ simple. You tells us what we want, and we’s gonna let you live.”

The entire roof cracked up, surprising Lapis and knocking her from her initial shock. The common folk did not see Hoyt’s goons as a threat? Funny how noble Meinrad and Rambart did, preferring nervousness over jollity, but they did not have to add to the laughter. It was stark enough.

“Do I look like a snitch?” Patch asked, and his irritation blew Siward’s attempt at anger to bits. “Palace may be gone, and we don’t have a ruler, but I’ll never be so dry for chases I’d consider giving anything to Hoyt other than my boot up his ass.” He shoved his fingers through his bangs and tucked them around his ears.

Eb’s nostrils flared, and he slid the axe from his belt. With a flourish, he slipped the leather encasing the edge off and let it drop. He hefted the weapon up in one hand, showcasing his strength and letting the light glint off the smooth blade, a wide, expectant smile showing off his yellowing teeth.

He jerked as the wooden handle splintered just below the head. The heavy steel tipped back and crashed to the roof, the heel digging into the snow and preventing it from bouncing to the stairs. He stared at the broken half in his hand, eyes twitching, then at Patch.

The commoners on the roof wavered between shocked awe and tech-instigated terror. The guards headed for the three, no longer amused at the play. Siward spun and sped through the two larger men, clambering loudly down the stairs. Gid watched him escape, bent down, and picked up the axe head before following. Eb’s lips worked, but no voice fell from them until the thunderous stomp of his brother had faded out of hearing.

“You’ll pay fer hurtin’ Messy,” he said, strain and disbelief, accompanied by impotent rage, filling the words. Patch snorted.

“Put Messy on another handle, I’ll take her out with another shot. Pretty simple.” He tapped the outer edge of his patch. The tiny lights which had produced the weapon-splintering cyan beam slowed their race around the leather periphery and, one by one, blinked off. “My patience isn’t boundless, and you’ve walked over the last of it. Unless you want to beat Siward and Gid to the street, leave.”

Eb did not have a choice; a guard grabbed his arm and shoved him into the doorway. He muttered and moaned about his treatment, and only received a sharp warning in return.

Patch did not sit until the sounds of screaming protest died. A collective sigh escaped the other people, then several decided to take their leave as well. By the brightness of their visages and the eagerness in their eyes, they planned to have storytime with friends and family about Patch, the infamous chaser, kicking Hoyt’s shanks off the Night Market’s roof.

Patch waited for them to vacate before glaring at Meinrad and Rambart. “And what do you want?”

Lapis expected haughtiness prompted by aristocratic offense, but their typical bluster did not materialize. “Just to talk,” Meinrad said. His words echoed the heaviness of his jowls and the darkness beneath his brown eyes.

“Not the same thing Siward wanted to discuss.”

“No,” he muttered. “We arrived at the same time, and the short one threatened us in the stairwell.”

“You should have told them to jump in the Pit,” Lapis muttered.

“We don’t have the boys with us,” Rambart protested. No backup, no visible weapons . . . considering current events and their ex-rebel status, that struck her as exceptionally odd.

“We’ll be off the roof by nightfall,” Patch said. True, but not the whole truth. “Go to the Lells Community Center, ask for Fyor. Leave a note, we’ll get back to you.”

Meinrad looked ready to protest, but his eyes flicked to the remaining people overhearing the conversation, and nodded, knocking his bangs from their slicked position behind his ears. He shoved his thumbs into the wide lapels of his heavy blue coat and headed for the stairs, Rambart rubbing his gloved hands together as he followed. He had bundled up in fur to the point of stiffness, but still did not seem as warm as the larger man.

“Didn’t think you were that popular,” the pink-hatted guard said as she returned to her seat.

“Me neither,” Patch grumbled.

“Hoyt’s looking over his head, but the other two? They’re wanting to hire you or something?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged. “I’m in high demand to do errands for nobles too afraid to return to Green Castle because of looters, and they think I’ll jump to retrieve their precious whatevers for a few bits.”

Again, while true, it was not the whole truth, but enough showed through the guard laughed in sympathetic disbelief and the commoners shook their heads at aristocratic folly.

Lapis did not care to discuss anything with Meinrad and Rambart. She would never forgive them for treating her like the lowliest shank in the gutter while promoting the rebel traitor, and if she were right, and they wanted to know if they could chew on a piece of the new government under Midir, someone else could crush their hopes into bits, then use a hammer to turn them into dust.

“Why don’t you take a break,” the guard said. “I’ve got the spiel about the community centers memorized, and it won’t hurt to warm up and eat a hot meal before you tromp back up here.”

“Thank you, if you’re sure,” Lapis said. “Warming up sounds good.” She moved her left shoulder and winced.

“I’m sure.” She tugged her collar up as the wind snagged frozen flecks to throw around. “It’s not like our star attraction’s going anywhere.”