“You let them go.”
Lapis folded her arms, feeling ungenerous, and her patience with the excited noble strained against her rage. After all that happened that night, after khentauree and rebel and Minq suffered injury and death protecting his sorry ass, he stood around and let the traitorous leave without a word.
“We didn’t know!” Rambart said, his mouth pulled into a surly frown as he clasped his jacket tight across his chest. He looked up the white staircase yet again, skipping over the servants who stood at the top, clustered together and fearful, and focused on the hallway entrance beyond. She doubted they would pry anything important from his lips until he stood in Meinrad’s presence. However had he navigated the upper echelon of the Blue Council? Had his friend held his hand the entire time?
“You didn’t think it odd, that once the fighting started, they, as one, vacated instead of staying safely within the mansion?”
“Well, I—”
The key-holding gate guard hustled up, casting a searing glare at the noble before concentrating on her. “Teivel and Nyal are trailing them,” he told her.
“What?” Rambart asked, jerking his head towards the man. “They shouldn’t have left! We need them here!”
“You don’t want the people who targeted you caught?” Lapis asked in a calm, dry voice. “And why is that?”
“That’s not what I said!” He whipped around to glower at her, clenching his collar tight enough, his fingers turned white.
“Afraid the Minq won’t be as accommodating to your whims?”
“And guess who else tried to make a run for it,” the guard interrupted, his fraying patience echoing hers.
Rambart hissed to shush him, and another thread of enforced calm snapped as she raised a questioning eyebrow. She did not have many left, and she did not trust herself near him if all of them completely broke.
Throttling him would not take the place of throttling The Gods’ Hands, and it seemed she had to wait for that, too.
“Tilden.”
Rambart gasped, his mouth working but no words escaping, as she blinked. Who was Tilden?
“The butler,” the guard muttered, answering her curiosity. “He tried to snag a horse and run. Guess whose horse he chose?”
She clenched her hands, the leather of her gauntlet glove groaning against the pressure. “Mine?”
The guard hmphed. “He was still being cared for, so was the nearest to the door. Tilden grabbed his mane, pulling him to a crate to mount. Your horse didn’t appreciate it and bucked him into a stall, spooking the already upset one inside. She stepped all over him.”
She closed her eyes. Of course. “So he’s dead?”
“Unconscious. Don’t know if he’ll wake, and don’t know if he was an inside contact or just a coward.”
She nodded and bowed her head to study the wet, muddy tiles, hoping more bad news did not increase the pain of her growing headache. Could the night get any worse? She knew the prohibitions against thinking such things, but so far, she felt her cynicism justified.
“Where’s Meinrad?” she asked.
“Caring for his family,” Rambart said, his tone heavy as some of his fear-tinged arrogance leaked away. “Such violence has never touched them before. His wife is overwrought, and his children terrified.”
She nodded; as much as she despised the ex-rebel, she refused to interfere in consoling family. They had nothing to do with this sorry mess, and she felt bad, that they suffered along with the unthinking men who unwittingly made it possible. “How old are his kids?”
“The eldest is eighteen, the youngest twelve.”
She could not stop the streak of emotion that rammed into her. Eighteen and twelve. She had more important things to do than dwell on the unforgiving past. She wrapped her fingers around the silver band she shoved over the gauntlet, needing that small touch of connection with Faelan before she spiraled into agonizing guilt that had no place in the current situation.
“Where did the teens with the khentauree heads go?”
The guard jerked his thumb at the hallway she had walked earlier. “In the den,” he said. “They said you’d speak for them.”
“I will,” she agreed, heading for the room. But should she? She had warned Lars to take his second chance, to rise above shank and do something else with his life, and it appeared he had not. Chaining himself to Diros’s ring was an asinine decision, and she needed to know if the rat’s subsequent bad choices would plague her.
A woman with a fuzzy hat and a red Minq uniform strode down the hall, smacking her black gloves on her thighs, grim yet resolute. She eyed Lapis, then nodded. “Lady Lanth?”
“Yes.”
“I’m the pilot of the Swift.”
Ah. “How does things look from the air?”
She sucked in a huge breath. “The field explosion tore through everything in the vicinity. There’s a giant hole and the surrounding trees got shredded—they weren’t even close to the cluster of chassis. We noticed flames in a couple places along the front lane, but we have no idea if the khentauree left their heads somewhere in the snow or if they’ve . . .”
She groped for the words, and Lapis forced a smile. “Gone to silence?”
“Yeah. That’s it. The khentauree were talking about it on the flight here.”
“Meinrad and Rambart’s people are conducting a sweep with Ghost and Chiddle, so we’ll find out. Did you see the damage in the street?”
The pilot chuckled, but not in amusement. “The gate and adjacent wall are no more and the vehicles exploded into several mounds of burning rubble. The mansion across the street doesn’t have a front anymore. I don’t know how many of Diros’s people got caught, but our side hasn’t found any survivors. They either had khentauree with them and the explosions took them out, or they had already retreated in expectation of it.”
“The military khentauree sent their chassis back to them,” she said, not wishing to see the damage. She had nightmares aplenty over the people she had killed. Fragile in that respect, she gratefully accepted the order from Tearlach to keep to the mansion and far away from charred remains.
The pilot unzipped her coat and shook her head in disbelief. “I thought tonight was going to be quiet,” she murmured.
“Me too. Patch and Heiden are out front, if you need to speak with them.” Lapis nodded in farewell and continued to her destination, intent on speaking to the rats before they regained their suspicion of her and shushed.
An ex-rebel with a no-nonsense air stood outside the den’s door. He studied her as she approached, but did not halt her from entering. The space felt hollow despite the teens and the khentauree heads filling the couches, chairs, and tabletops. Perhaps it was the lack of light; most of the sconces no longer burned, and deep shadows coated everything behind Meinrad’s askew chair.
Jhor bent over the front of the desk, his device plugged into a military khentauree, and tapped away on the screen. Sanna stood next to him, buzzing and humming at the other mechanical beings. Their foreheads flickered, their only outward response.
Lars bolted up from a slouch, dark eyes panicked, then sagged as he recognized her. He considered her safe, then, a strange thing considering their past. “Lady,” he breathed. He had more an air of frightened street rat than confident shank, something reflected in all the lads, and her chest twinged.
“Do you lot need anything?”
They shook their heads. “Onna them servants got us some snacks and water,” Lars said. “Showed us the bathroom, ‘n we cleaned up.” He rubbed at his stubbled, but not-grimy, cheek.
“Good.” She folded her arms and glanced at the clear glasses clustered around a plate on the end table. Nothing left; typical of growing rats, she supposed. She eyed each in turn; while uneasy, only Dandi shrank down so his chin and mouth rested below his coat’s collar. “You realize, you’ll be telling us everything about your experience with Diros.”
“Aye, Lady. Y’ won’t be beatin’ it outta us.”
“No, though I won’t make any promises about Patch.”
They winced. Good. Her partner was in a foul mood, and reticence on their part would not put him in a better one.
“Do not make promises about me, either,” Sanna said. The rats’ wide-eyed horror amused her. True, one did not step on the khentauree’s bad side, but that could be said of Ghost and Chiddle, too.
“They will say what must be said,” Loschyd told them. He sounded wary, so she assumed Sanna had made her displeasure at their obstinance known, and her nearness disturbed him.
“And what must be said?” she asked.
“Lotsa stuff.” Lars took a deep breath before sagging. “ ’Bout Diros ‘n tech ‘n smugglin’. Not that we knows much, Lady, but some things.” He swallowed. “ ’Bout the Beryl, too.”
As the khentauree inhabited all the other seating, Lapis plunked herself in Meinrad’s too-comfy chair and lounged back, feeling bone-deep weariness but knowing slumber sat many hours away. “The Beryl, eh? They and Diros have a satisfactory agreement, I take it.” She did not enjoy playing dumb, but if she pretended to know nothing about the noble or the hunter syndicate, they would be freer with their sharing.
“I guess,” he muttered. “Don’t look much beneficial from my eyes. Klow’s hatin’ on Diros, Diros’s hatin’ on Klow. Don’t know why they’s still even chattin’.”
“They hate each other,” Dandi agreed, rubbing his hands with nervous dread. “But both owe money to someone else, and that someone else is forcing them to work together.”
“Do you know who that is?”
They all shook their heads. “Not by name, jest someone from Taangis,” Lars told her. “A noble lady. Gots lotsa metgal, practically throws it away. Shanks ‘r nosin’ around, tryin’ to get in good with the smugglers or the Beryl ‘cause there’s money in it. Bits ‘r in short supply, right now.”
And the shortages would get worse, as Jilvayna adjusted to life after the empire. She counted it lucky, that the majority of the country’s currency revolved around shells. Armarandos had already sent community center guards to the waterfarms where they grew the mollusks that provided the shells, replacing the palace ones who abandoned their duty once it became clear Gall had died. The farmers greeted them with intense relief, which boded well for their cooperation with the new government.
“Shanks gotta eat, too.”
“Yeah, they do.” Had she drifted on thoughts? Lars sounded a tad put out, and she did not want him to doubt her sincerity. “Tell you what. I’m tired, and I bet so are you. Give me the short version right now, think about what you might have left out, and after you’ve gotten some sleep, you can talk to someone back in Jiy with a full list to reference.”
Lars glanced at Loschyd, then swallowed. “They found some khentauree in an abandoned fort,” he said. “Apparently there’s a lotta forts in Jilvayna, but huntin’ fer them’s tough. To cover his expenses, Diros wanted to sell ‘m to some foreign prince from Meergevenis, but somethin’ went wrong. Don’t know what. Prince hopped aboard the skyshroud without a deal, and Diros got mad. Whoever’s yankin’ his chain weren’t none pleased, ‘cause she expected them khentauree to be hers.”
“She was very upset,” Dandi agreed, his voice trembling. “Or so my grand-da said. He thought she would send shanks after Diros, so he contacted Mibi for a place to hide. Mibi said sure, but for a price. He handed us over to Diros to fill bit shank roles, stole something from him, and left.”
Wonderful. “That’s a hit, when it comes from kin.”
He nodded, a tear racing down his cheek. “I thought he cared,” he whispered. “But he’s just like my da.”
Lars, of all people, patted him on the back in comfort. She never would have thought the disillusioned rat had empathy in him. His buddies looked on, reflecting his sadness. Dammit, she did not want to feel bad for Dandi. He bullied, acted the victim when caught, and took pleasure in others’ pain. She could not quite believe Orinder’s betrayal had made him question his life’s choices that hard.
“Well, you don’t have to associate with either one of them, if you don’t want to. There’s plenty to be done aboveground to get Jilvayna back on its feet, if you’re willing to put forth the effort and leave shank life behind.” She leaned forward. “That depends, however, on how trustworthy I deem you.”
“We’ve a past, Lady,” Lars reluctantly admitted. A buddy snorted at the ludicrous statement, and the rat glared him into silence. “But we’s speakin’ nuthin’ but the truth. Streets code.”
At least he upheld that. “Alright. What else?”
“The Taangis lady ain’t the only one interested in khentauree. That skyshroud leadcommander is, and some syndicate shank from a Council family is, too. There’s someone else, don’t know who, but the lady’s pissed about it.”
Was she? Had Caardinva gone off on his own? Interesting, if so. Or maybe the woman meant Seeza and whoever she worked for? What about the orange uniforms?
She sank back, her thoughts whirling. “If the Taangin noble wanted these khentauree, why did Diros rig them with explosives and send them here?”
They looked at each other and shrugged, eyes worried, lips firm.
“Alright. Is that all?”
“Not quite,” Lars said. “Diros’s nosin’ ‘round Green Castle. There’s some big black box he’s lookin’ fer, can’t find it. Don’t know much else ‘bout that.”
“Even if it seems minute, all of this is important,” Lapis said. “I’m going to scrounge around for a pen and paper. Write down what you told me, and if you remember more, make notes of it. Tonight’s been stressful, and it’s expected, things might slip your mind.”
“Who’s we talkin’ to, Lady?” Lars asked. He sounded hesitant rather than suspicious.
“My brother Faelan.” They all reared back in surprise. “He survived our family’s death and returned to my life in an unexpected way.” A small smile lit her lips. “He’s the rebel Leader, so I expect you to be nice.”
Their shock made Sanna laugh. All eyes diverted to her, and she hummed happily. “He is kind,” she said. “His life is hard, so he chooses kindness when he can. But do not think kindness means cowardice or weakness.”
“He outlasted Gall. One doesn’t do that without fortitude.” Lapis slapped her hands on her thighs and rose, fighting not to groan, then halted as Sanna handed her a pen and paper attached to a stiff leather backing. “Thank you. I should have known, you’d know where to look.”
“This office is neat,” the khentauree said. “Everything is in its place.”
“It was on the desk,” Jhor told her drily.
Sanna buzzed, annoyed, and she gave the items to Lars rather than get into a back-and-forth with two others who were just as pissy as she.
Patch walked into the room with two more heads; black residue covered the sides that had faced the explosions and one did not look operational. The Ambercaast khentauree trotted to him and accepted them, cradling them as she found space for them on a couch.
“That’s the last of the ones from the yard,” he said, rolling his head before giving it a little shake.
“Ghost and Chiddle found others,” Sanna said. “They did not listen, and went to silence in a blackened hole.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Jhor said, straightening. He put his hands in the small of his back and stretched, overt unhappiness hiding deep rage. The glint in his brown eyes reflected nothing else. “Loschyd, was your most recent update also installed in the others?”
“Yes. They modded us together.”
“They have the same code that N035NX had to force them into acts that went against previous programming. Someone’s changed a few things, so I’m going to need time to study it.”
Patch narrowed his eye. “I’m under the impression the Meergeven scientists didn’t share outside the markweza’s group. How’d Diros get it?”
“Kez is bankrolling both Eldekaarsen and Diros, so maybe he got it from the association. The thing is, he’d need a modder of equal experience to the scientists to install it.”
“Sloppy shits in the cow field,” Sanna muttered. Jhor pursed his lips at her as laughter escaped Lars and his buddies. They slapped their hands over their mouths and quieted, as if realizing their mirth might attract unwanted attention.
“They’re educated at the finest institutions in Meergevenis and know what they’re doing. That’s the point. We’ve accounted for the entire team, alive or dead. None of them are working for Diros. He had to have hired a modder from somewhere else who understands Meergeven, Taangin and the base code well enough to manipulate it.”
“Lady! Jest recalled somethin’,” Lars said. He scribbled on the top sheet, in handwriting far neater than that he produced before he left the reading circle. Had he practiced on his own? Good, if so.
The rat who bemoaned them not escaping sooner raised his finger. “You’s sayin’ a modder. Them Beryl, they gots modders. Been screwin’ up somma them hunters, to where they can’t function. Promised ‘m stronger arms and legs, they gets shiny metal ones that don’t work.”
Jhor stared at him, disgusted, then tipped his head back. “I don’t suppose you have names?”
“Only one, ‘cause they can’t find ‘m. Ceven.”
Patch half-laughed at that. “Knight Seeza took him out,” he told them. Their eyes widened in unease and trepidation. “Do you know when they missed him?” They shook their heads. “Write down the first day you heard them talk about him.”
“Did Ceven upload the code, Loschyd?” Sanna asked.
“I do not know Ceven,” he said. “I only know Dr. Mesheen.”
Lapis tried not laugh at the sour, disgusted look that crossed Jhor’s face. She supposed Mesheen was as good a fake name as any for someone who attempted to outfit humans with machine parts. At least it was not as terrible as ‘The Gods’ Hands’.
“You should save notes, too,” Sanna said, tapping her temple. “Then we will tell Faelan all at once.”
“Anyone who has any information, make a note of it,” Patch suggested. “Even if you think it’s negligible, it might not be. Lanth.” He jerked his head at the door. Nodding, she followed him into the hall and far enough from the room, hopefully no khentauree—or one curious ex-rebel guard—intercepted their words.
“What’s up?”
“Perben checked in. Seems the group ran to those tunnels near Vali’s place. They met a heavily armed unit with a Dentherion vehicle, probably mercs, and left. He said the ex-rebels were upset and didn’t want to get in, but were convinced to go at gunpoint.”
Lapis dropped her chin to her chest. “I hate all of this.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held tight; she ignored the cold wafting from his coat. “Me too. But they chose the wrong side, and if they pay? Their loss, not ours.” She pressed her nose into the base of his neck and squeezed hard.
“Relaine will seduce her way out of it.”
“Maybe. Depends on who she targets.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Ghost wants the khentauree back at Ambercaast as soon as possible. I can’t blame him. I’ll talk with Faelan and see what we can do about tunnel transport. There are a lot of heads, and we don’t want to toss them in a box and be done with it.”
“Yeah.” She pulled back. “Lars said Diros is hunting for more forts that have them. I’d bet, the khentauree parts we’re seeing in the undermarket are from him.” She sucked in a breath. “There’s something so wrong about all this. Something we’re missing. Why target Meinrad’s mansion? Why stick explosives into hard-to-find chassis and blow them up?”
“They’re testing something,” he murmured. “And we need to discover what, before they throw everything into the Pit, light a match, and watch it burn.”
