Lapis stared at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, turning this way and that. The last time she wore something so fancy, she had attended some boring event her parents carted all their children to. She did not remember what, but she loved her silky, deep violet dress with mounds of lace and dainty, matching slippers.
No dress this time, but a stiff half-jacket, flowing, knee-length tunic and flared pants, all in Midir’s deep crimson and gold colors. She smoothed the Nicodem tree pattern decorating the fabric, then adjusted the jacket before dusting her shoulders, the stiffer, gold-washed leather a contrast to the shimmery, appliquéd band collar, hem and cuffs. She wormed her feet inside the new, black boots; the thick soles would crunch their way across any street without issue, and grip nicely if she had to run. Instead of a belt, a Jils-style gold sash wrapped around her hips. The soft material, made from a local plant called chamilo, delighted her fingers.
And all the niceness would remain hidden beneath a knee-length heavy coat with the same decoration as the outfit. The sleeves reached her elbows, providing ample room for her gauntlets. She checked the straps and the buttons that would pop a small knife into her hand, made certain the handle moved, and sighed. However wondrous the clothing, she was there to protect Midir.
Hopefully her shoulder did not protest if she needed to react to a threat. The hefty dose of painkiller, specially formulated by Patch’s aunt, shouldn’t wear off until far into the evening, when she had time to partake of another dose.
She fiddled with the silver bracelet from Faelan, then dug under her tunic for the purple sapphire necklace and the chain with the jangly charms that Patch and the rats had respectively gifted her. She clasped them in her palms and closed her eyes. Good luck rode with them, and she would not leave the mansion without them.
She walked out of the changing room and into the dusky bedroom; Patch held his tech eye above a bowl placed on the round table to the side of the four-poster bed, shaking the last drops from it before depositing it in a soft cloth. The device had a fake façade, a nod to her worry that, if the palace caught him, the guard would at least believe it was a blue glass eye rather than an illegal mechanism. The rest of it was anything but. A transparent casing held all manner of mods, most on dozens of paper-thin sheets that somehow held code, surrounded by small rotating rings and blots that raced around the inner surface of the shell, leaving streaks of light behind.
The entire thing popped into a permanent mount in his eye cavity, which in turn hooked into his patch. All together, they did wondrous things like scan huge crowds for tech, which was why Faelan asked him to join Midir on stage. He disliked being in front of so many, but did not protest. The future of Jilvayna rode with this speech, and making certain the man giving it remained alive and well was too important to forsake.
She admired his outfit; a black, long-sleeved shirt with a tall neck to keep the cold at bay and snug, stretchy knit pants. It fit him well, and while not extravagant, the tooled black leather trench coat lying over the back of a chair more than made up for it. He would look cool and dangerous, and everyone would assume Midir smartly hired the famous chaser for bodyguard duty.
He glanced at her, and she studied the cavity; it appeared shiny, which meant he had scrubbed it. She looked at the cleaning solution. Stopped. Ew ew ew. “When was the last time you cleaned your eye?”
He busily scrubbed the remaining fluid off the tech.
“Patch?”
“We’ve been busy.”
“You remember what Sils said about eye infection, brain infection?”
“Yes.”
It was a wonder, it all still worked and he remained hale and whole.
Repulsed by the floating gunk, she slid around him and headed for the outer room, plotting to have Sanna speak to him about cleanliness and his tech. He might ignore Sils, and probably Jhor, but he would not ignore Sanna, because Sanna would not let him ignore her.
Rin popped up from the chair he lounged in, and she waved him back. He sank down, fidgety, smoothing the crimson pants before tugging at his coat. Its sleeves mimicked hers because he wore her old chasing gauntlets. She had gifted one to him and one to Lyet, but he needed both that day. Lyet had other, safer duties in taking rat reports and would remain ensconced in Maydie and Movique’s office with those running the comms—though Lapis bet that, during the speech, she would stand on the balcony and watch.
Otherwise, she planned to remain hidden, just in case her stepfather and mother attended.
“Everything set?” she asked. He nodded, fiddled with the ends of his neatly trimmed red hair, realized he did so, and dropped his hand to his lap. He had never had a professional cut before, and the only thing that prompted him to acquire one was Faelan dumping a silver into his palm and telling him he needed to look the part of Lord Krios supporter.
“Aye. Rats’re already out ‘n about. They’s a crowd gatherin’ fair early, gettin’ food and waitin’. Brone got most of the last players to perform the skits and songs Midir wanted. The few that refused are feelin’ left out, now.”
“We’ll hand out some bits if they get too snarly.” She ran a hand through her sleek tresses—the products Jetta loaned her did wonders for the ease of brushing and the shine—and glanced at the gold-washed frame of the mirror hanging on the far side of the room. Linz did her makeup, and she looked like a smoky-eyed hunter ready to pounce. She had never felt so pretty, or so deadly, and the war between them was an odd sensation.
Maybe she should buy some shadow and lipstick and call it chasing expenses.
She turned back to him, amused at the direction of her thoughts. “You look nice.”
He blushed as red as the tunic. “Lady, I ain’t never worn somethin’ like this. I knows its so’s the rats can find me in the crowd, but . . .”
“It’s your uniform for every official occasion, so enjoy it. At least they aren’t itchy.”
His fingers played over the cuff embroidery. “I never thought I’d be official anythin’. Faelan said our family’s been beholden to the true royals since our ancestors helped the survivin’ princess escape, so I should ‘spect to join the special occasions.” His brows knit. “Our family. He makes it sound legit.”
“It is. We decided to be family, and so we are.”
“It shouldn’t be that easy.”
“It wasn’t.”
He wormed his lips into a pursed frown. “Now, Lapis—”
The knock on the door startled them both, and Lapis answered, willing her heart to calm down. Brander waited, hands in pockets, a small smile on his face as he watched someone down the hall. She peeked; Path twirled for Linz, the sash whirling around her in airy golden splendor as the cobalt coat and a caparison fluttered. Jhor must have finalized the rig that would keep the khentauree warm that afternoon.
“Ready?” Brander asked. He and Sherridan had the fortune of making certain everything ran smoothly on the rebel end, and she did not envy them the work. He wore a plain black trench with a gaiter, a simple outfit that would blend with whatever crowd gathered at the Lells.
“Is your sister going to come?”
He nodded. “Along with the kids. I think you’ll be surprised, how many families will be there.”
“They’re concerned, like everyone else.”
“I suppose. Lord Adrastos checked in, and he said the Songbird crowd’s already filled the square, with far more nobles from Harkenberry and Romengerie than he expected. Riverfront’s large, too.”
“I wish him, Lady Nerine and Lady Thais good luck.” Harkenberry and Romengerie nobles were not the over-inflated pricks that hailed from Greencastle, but they still held the snobby attitude of the throne-favored, too-wealthy.
“They’ll be fine. Most of the nobles are searching for opportunity and money, and think Adrastos and Nerine can provide it. Plus, the River Sisters showed up in numbers, and the rowdier priests and lords aren’t willing to step on their bad side and get denied healing help in the future.”
“I’m surprised. I thought they’d be resentful of anything supported by Lady Thais, considering she moved out and took her patients with her.”
“Fear of a disastrous future makes people do unexpected things. I mean, I thought it was silly, that Granna Cup insisted on having a viewing spot in Underville. The average, laid-back syndicate shank hasn’t cared about aboveground dealings for years. But she says all the walkways around her fire are at capacity, with more shanks and bosses spilling into the surrounding area.”
“Is Dagby already there?”
“Yep, and looking dangerous.” He laughed. “The Rams don’t quite know what to do with him.”
“I thought they were guarding the Blossom stage.”
“They are, but Kalliope doesn’t expect much of a problem from worried farmers. Yedin’s gran-da is welcoming everyone and answering questions about field rotation and acquiring fertilizer now that the Dentherion supply is cut off.” He chuckled. “She’s a lot like her fiancé, action-oriented, and I’m afraid she’s bored stiff. I told her Armarandos isn’t faring better at the Lells, but I don’t think she believed me.” He grinned as Rin came to stand at her side. “Ready for this?”
“No.”
Brander laughed and patted his shoulder. “Concentrate on your job and the speech will be over before you know it.” He leaned closer. “Midir’s reserved the Lells banquet hall for dinner and several stalls from the Night Market and Candycakes are catering. It’s giving those merchants a chance to make a few bits, since the Lells ones have their hands full with the crowd.”
Lapis blinked. “The Lells has a banquet hall?”
“Brand new, courtesy of Lord Adrastos. He paid for the renovation of the Moondance. It finished a day before the ‘shroud went down.”
That shocked her. The Moondance had begun life as a mansion’s ballroom and theater. After the Dentherion invasion, it fell from grace and exchanged hands multiple times, acting as a meeting place for the down-and-out Grey Streets nobles and then a gentlemen’s club. It did not have the seedy reputation of the Shank, but the rumors concerning dealings within raised more than a few eyebrows. Maydie and Movique had attempted to purchase it, as they disliked its rep and its nearness to their market, but the owner refused to sell a steady source of income.
“It’s part of the community center construction,” Brander continued. “Instead of having the palace run everything, Midir wants the Jiy districts to elect representatives, like they do in Underville, and they’ll need official meeting places. We in the Grey and Stone Streets won’t have to worry about bad decisions coming from the palace, we just have to worry about bad decisions coming from our citizens.”
More movement from down the hall caught their attention; Sanna, Jhor and Cassa arrived, the khentauree in the same outfit as Path, Jhor in his new one. Cassa did not wear Midir’s colors, instead sporting a purple woolen coat and matching fuzzy hat with gold scarf; a link and endorsement, though she doubted many residents knew about the workstation.
Lapis leaned back into the suite. “Hurry up, Patch!” she called, then bustled to them. Now was her chance to ask Sanna to lean on her partner, before the day’s events washed her intentions away.
Patch’s narrowed-eyed glare did not affect Lapis’s perfectly pleased self as they made their way to the Lells. Sanna already scolded him, and his grumpiness came from the realization that the khentauree would badger him until he relented and did what she asked.
Rin had taken himself away, promising to meet them later, and snickered loudly the entire way to the front door. That did not improve her partner’s mood.
More than one individual hurrying to the Lells took one look at their group and skittered out of the way. The combination of rebel, khentauree and terron made for a terrifying sight and would, hopefully, dissuade anyone from attacking Midir—if they managed to get a weapon inside the perimeter. The rebels and Minq had swept through that morning, and every way into Mimstone Square had barricades and armed guards.
“I appreciate the chance to speak.”
Lapis glanced up at the speaker attached to the roof of the left-handed building, pointed towards the crossroad, a very bored teenage rat in a new coat lounging above it as caretaker. That sounded like Grand Magister Velrich. Faelan said that local leaders would give endorsement speeches, and it appeared they had already started.
The wonders of tech. She knew the leaders of Coriy, Diytros and Vraindem would speak, all from their respective cities, and crowds throughout Jilvayna could hear them. This would be the first experience many would have with anything of the sort, and she wondered at the reaction.
Linz tapped at their headset, then glanced at her and Patch. “Jetta says we need to get to the backstage using Central Walk.”
“Too many people?” her partner asked.
They nodded. “The terrons might not be able to make it through the crowds otherwise.”
Patch took the lead, and they passed Lells stores with colorful flags hanging from their brightly striped awnings and festive wreaths on the doors, items normally reserved for city-wide celebrations. Banners with Midir’s crest—a hawk gripping a spear over a castle—lined the streets, and at every intersection, attached to the lantern posts, was the list of endorsees. Some had rips, others no longer had anything but a chunk of text remaining, but for the most part, they remained up for anyone to read.
Many residents dressed in their temple-finest, and several had their entire families with them. The foodstalls in the squares and roads surrounding Mimstone overflowed with customers, and rats streaked back and forth, many carrying something or other for the merchants.
She recognized various urchins from the Grey and Stone Streets, but the ones from the Vale and the Shells surprised her. Rin must have done more conscripting than she gave him credit for, and the fact each would receive a good meal and pay for the work warmed her.
Community center guards stood at the corners at intersections nearer the square, bedecked in crimson and gold, answering the questions voiced by the curious and confused. Good for them; she did not have the patience for such inquiries, but they navigated the growing chaos with aplomb and a smile.
“There’s so many children,” Cassa breathed as they turned onto Central Walk. Tia rumbled and signed, her claws whisking through the finger words. “True, but I would have thought distress would keep many at home. After all, there doesn’t seem to be a central authority anymore.”
“All the more reason to listen to the speech from someone with Jilvayna-wide endorsements,” Lapis said. “Plus, the community center guards are out, providing familiar faces and reassurance, and each stage has established authority figures. Lord Adrastos, Armarandos, Shara, the Grand Magister, Granna Cup, Double Catch, Yedin and his family; they may not be city-wide famous, but attendees at specific stages will recognize them. We’re showing unity in Jilvayna’s name and people sense that.
“And look around. The atmosphere isn’t one of fear, either.” She motioned to the flags decorating the nearest buildings. “This is how the Grey Streets look during religious festivals where a few priests make declarations in the morning and afternoon, and the populace parties afterwards. It’s a familiar look and feel, with serious preceding the entertainment.”
“The other stages have décor in keeping with the attendees,” Linz said as they tapped on their tech device. It was smaller than most of those with screens that Lapis had seen in rebel hands, and she wondered which Dentherion-based shank they snagged it from. “Linden and Yedin were very specific about the Blossom setup. They wanted an End Year harvest festival air, so shoveled out a place for wagons and animals, put out hay bales with crates of apples on them, and erected booths selling warm cider and all the usual foods and sweets. The stage flags are interesting, too. Apparently a lot of farmers and ranchers around Jiy have little altars to Omerdewrane and Chewraineve in their basements, where they offer the first produce of a season in hopes of continued bounty. The stage flags have those two gods on them, blessing those speaking and listening.”
How curious, that those religious practices made their way down the ages in such a way; hidden, yet still observed. During chases and rebel missions, she had seen similar iconography throughout rural areas in Jilvayna and wondered if the practitioners should not hide their worship better. The Dentherions did not like challenges to the Seven Gods and the Stars, especially from the supposedly long-forgotten Jils pantheon.
“And now, let me introduce High Previcate Alos of the First God’s Temple in Coriy.”
Lapis glanced at the speaker they walked under, flabbergasted. Midir had snagged the high previcate? Even if the other holy leaders hated the change of leadership, the First God was the First God, and the religious in Jilvayna considered the leader of his temple their ultimate blessed authority. His approval carried weight. The only other with more would be Jarosa, and she had publicly declared the Meint’s support for Midir months ago.
Path squealed and trotted past them and to Lyet, who stood with the rebels and Minq at the Central Walk barricade. “You should not be seen,” she scolded, shaking her finger at her.
The teen shrugged. “No, but I’m going to guide you to the office. After that, I’m hiding.” She waved at Lapis. “Lady! Brone suggested it, so when Phialla and Ness ran out of pottery, they took orders!”
She grinned wide. “Good for them.”
“The stall owners say it’s another step up for their business, accepting commissions. Jandra and Miyomon are doing the same.” Lyet raised an eyebrow. “And only prepaid commissions. I’m surprised so many went along with that.”
“It makes things seem normal,” she said, though she suspected the customers planned to annoy her if the rats did not get the items done in a timely manner.
The guards moved the blinding red, triangular barricades, letting them through.
Those with other jobs scattered, leaving Lapis and Patch to guide the rest to the stage—not that there was much guiding involved. Central Walk led straight to the back of it, and from the clear view, rebels had already blocked all access points from cross streets and alleys.
Ghost, who had quietly observed everything, buzzed thoughtfully. “There is a sense of community,” he said. “I would have thought otherwise, considering Dentheria’s hold on this country. They were ugly victors, and I expected ugly destruction in turn. It is what they bred, as Taangis did before them.”
“It’s a chance for change,” Lapis said. “Gall’s last few years have weighed on us, and everyone’s felt it, whether people admit it or not.”
“Change is the setting sun, but also the rising sun,” Sanna said. “Change is the moon that repeats its phases and its hope in between. We, too, wished for change. It is now, Ghost.”
He swiveled his head to the other khentauree. “Is it? My minds wage arguments, but yours and Chiddle’s are set.”
“Time goes forward, and we with it.” Chiddle circled his chest where the Meergevens had implanted their control bauble. “It is not so different, whether we hide or not. The scientists still harmed us, the mercenaries still harmed us. I prefer an overt presence and fighting back.”
Tia signed in response, and he nodded. “Yes. I believe our time sequestered has ended. I do not envy Nathala, dealing with the terrons who only wish to disappear. It is no longer a viable option.”
“It might fracture their community,” Cassa said with a heavy voice. “But that’s how it’s always been with the weeld kleeth. I hate to see it, but I don’t think Nathala can prevent Ghinka and her kosee from leaving.”
Tia signed again, and Mint rumbled his agreement as the scientist nodded.
“I don’t blame her. If they build a new settlement in the tunnels, they will remain a nearby threat to her leadership. Ghinka will have to accept exile, and far from Ambercaast. Badger’s staying, isn’t he?” Tia nodded. “Well, that will make those who might follow her take a think or three about leaving.”
Too bad. Lapis would not mind waving a final goodbye to the terron who kidnapped Rin and Tovi. She trusted his good intentions as much as she trusted drinking muddy water.
The back of the stage had four giant poles that held up the backdrop, a heavy emerald curtain that looked as if someone snatched it from a theater. It spanned the length of the Walk, and she sucked in a relieved breath, that she did not have to view the crowd for a while yet. A bonus, that it muffled the noise; she did not think she could handle the constant loud for however long she would be there. She sent a thought to Fyor, who supervised the Mimstone presenters; he had to stand on stage for the entire event and get pummeled.
Midir held his daughter as he spoke to Armarandos and Faelan. She had expected his resplendent self to emerge, but he wore an elegant, not extravagant, knee-length, crimson coat with gold cuffs and a half-collar, black pants and boots. A red band kept his hair from his cheeks, and no skin-smoothing makeup marred his face. He truly had left his overblown, outrageous self behind.
Iole had sacked out on his shoulder, her dark amber curls running down his back, and did not look as if she would wake anytime soon. The seven-year-old wore a crimson dress with golden lace, gold tights and a fuzzy, heavy coat warm enough, sleeping in the cold was not a problem. Faelan had an outfit almost identical to Patch’s, only in Midir’s colors, while Armarandos sported a heavy trench in his family’s deep rose and antique gold. They all looked far too relaxed, and she envied their confidence.
Jetta held baby Phaeton’s carry basket as Varr aided Elysia in strapping a holster to her torso without tangling in her filmy crimson dress or her mink-brown hair. Her coat had a slit which she could slip her hand into and draw; considering her appearance, Lapis doubted anyone would realize she carried a weapon until she took them out. Her mother would have done the same for her father, and she respected Elysia for choosing that role.
Others stood or sat in folding chairs; the Blue Council members and Midir’s personal guards, Copper and other community center guards, Shara and Minq guards . . . lots of guards, but just as many antsy people who, she decided, planned to give short speeches. Several held a relieved air, so they must have already spoken.
Maydie and Movique beamed at the cluster, dressed in expensive velvet dresses and warm, head-hugging hats. The last time she had witnessed the owners of the Lells so happy, they had met many important people during Patch’s introduction of Midir to the Grey Streets. Lapis thought they would have manned their office, managing the problems that inevitably would arise in their market throughout the trying day, but here they were, asking if people needed water or a hearty hype-up before they hopped onto stage to speak.
They must have left Maydie’s daughter in charge, poor woman.
Sanna trotted to the curtain and peeked around the edge, then returned to Jhor’s side. “There are many people,” she said.
“Kalliope said there are so many at Blossom’s, they had to rig more speakers so those in the overflow could hear,” Armarandos told her. “It’s good, people have an interest.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Lapis asked. “It’s their future, too.”
Varr chuckled. “True enough.” The bodyguard gave her a once-over with a critical eye, then Patch. “No fuss so far, but don’t drop your guard. Rats are saying people are nervous, and there’s a few stirring up discontent. But the more who show up, the quieter those voices become.”
The speakers crackled. “And please welcome the Leader of Vraindem, Lady Averta, to the stage.”
“Thank you, Tancred.” Cheers came through, loud and fuzzy.
The side of the curtain moved, and crowd noise blasted them. A rebel peeked through. “Copper, you’re next,” she said. The man rubbed his hands nervously on his pants, and Maydie and Movique cheered him on with pats on the back and wide smiles before he headed for the front. The heavy cloth fell back into place, quieting the area once again.
Jetta handed the baby back to Elysia with a smile. “At least the dignitaries are succinct,” she murmured. “I half-expected the nobles to carry on for an hour.”
“That’s why we have rebels and guardsmen manning the microphones,” Faelan reminded her. “They’re keeping strict time.”
“How many more speakers before Lord Krios?” Lapis asked.
Faelan glanced at her, then bit his lip. “We still have fifteen.”
She blinked. “I have to stand in the cold for fifteen more speakers?”
“No, we have chairs.”
She did not appreciate the laughter, nor Patch’s kiss to the side of her head.
