Lapis woke to loud banging and someone screaming her name. She frowned and sat up, disoriented. Her still-damp hair clung to her cheek, and she swiped it away as she unsteadily gained her feet. Sunlight barely filtered through the window, indicating a time far earlier than she normally rose. Far earlier than she wished, after the late night she had.
Ciaran had finally come for them as midnight approached, interrupting the plans to follow the next people leaving the night market. He studied the four who had planted themselves against the black brick wall and waited for her to do something, surprised that the man who brought up Patch and trust stood with them. He went by Gerrit, and he had lost family to Gall’s depravity—something they unwittingly shared. He never seemed particularly inclined to Perben or to Meinrad and Rambart’s ideas, so his presence seemed odd. The rebel grimly listened to her retelling of the confrontation and promised he would make certain she always had company until Faelan cared for the problem.
Then Rin led them down one of his secret routes, and they lost the rebels trailing them.
She opened the door, scratching her head and yawning. Despite returning in the wee hours, she stayed up too late waiting for Patch, but he obviously did more than lead the guard to Hoyt’s front door. What had he and Varr gotten up to?
She squeaked as a fist raced past her. Heran fell into the room, landing heavily on her knees. Her face was red, swollen, her expression devastated. Phialla grabbed her, trying to help her stand.
“Lady! They’s came,” Heran cried brokenly.
“What?”
“Lookin’ fer Rin,” she choked. “Asked about the Lells, real early.”
“They asked all of us,” Phialla said, tears racing down her cheeks. “They said they wanted Rin for a job. Brone and Scand were suspicious, and the circle rats ignored them. But . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. But Nilas found a body and—”
“A body?” Dread rammed through her.
No. No. Not Rin.
“Rin?”
Phialla sobbed. “We can’t find him. He’s not at the Lells, he isn’t in the room, and the guards won’t let us see—”
Lapis stumbled to her closet and dressed in a haze before snapping on her gauntlets and racing from the room. The rebel guards still stood as sentries at the bottom of the staircase, and someone she did not recognize grabbed her arm. She jerked away and ran, through the after-rain cold air, through sludgy puddles, through the hard, greyish-yellow sunlight, past grey buildings and sidewalks burdened with broken grey stone, to the morn-shadowed Lells.
The early merchants clustered together, some holding one another, tearful, grim, afraid, their booths and stalls half-prepared, bright canopies left on the ground next to abandoned boxes of wares. The street rats congregated to the side of Windy Alley, crying, the older ones blank of emotion as they tried to comfort the younger. Brone held Jesi as she sobbed into his chest, and Scand and Gabby huddled together, younger rats clinging to them. Ness planted his face so hard into the lad’s side, his features were probably smashed into his skin.
Guards stood at the entrance, stern, stiff, their eyes blank, saving the emotions for later, when they could drown them in ale. One lifted a hand, palm out, wanting her to stop; she glared at him and he paused, long enough she whizzed between the two.
She had to know. Her heart broke as she forced herself to look. She flashed to Endre, how he raised his hand in greeting . . .
It took her a moment to process the scene. Three guards studied the body sprawled on the ground, across a pile of debris, blood running from the empty neck to the head that lay next to the wall.
Beheaded.
Perben.
Short, stocky, stubble, cropped red hair.
Miki. Not Rin. Miki.
“Lady.”
Copper, one of the guards who patrolled the Lells and had a soft spot for the rats, reached for her. He lived on the streets in his youth, and after transitioning to the guard, did charity work in his spare time to help the neediest ones, the disabled urchins. He cried, and he did not bother to hide his reaction.
He gently grasped her arm and turned her about. “I’m sorry, Lady,” he whispered. “We need to have a look around before you take the body.”
Rats held parades to the Pit, for those who died. Despite the illegality of mourning the dead, they carried candles, walked in front of the body, and tossed the still-burning stubs over the side of the bridge with the deceased. Dozens of parades had occurred since she moved to Jiy; street life and disease took too many, too soon. No guard stopped the processions, though she did not know if Sir Armarandos played a hand in that or not.
She nodded and patted his fingers. “We’ll wait,” she told him.
The rats had not budged. She wandered to them, shoulders slumped, numb, and stopped next to Heran and Phialla. Heran had wrapped her arms about her torso and she stared at the ground, venting, stomping. Phialla had her hand on her back, worried.
She did her best to swallow the lump in her throat. She knew Miki in passing, a cheerful lad on the edge of moving beyond his street rat living and into something more akin to a shank. He did odd jobs for several Lells merchants, never made enough bits to get him off the streets, but he ate regular meals and bought decent clothing. The only thing he and Rin had in common was the red color of their hair.
The bastard, he mistook Miki for Rin. Or had he decided to target every rat with red hair, to make certain he killed the right one?
“Heran.”
The lass looked up, gasping.
“Nilas found him?”
“Yes, ‘twas Nilas. We all saw thems men askin’ fer Rin come outta the alley, all rushin’ ‘n scared, so he went t’ look. He . . . took off yellin’ fer the guard. They’s close, came rushin’ over. Don’t knows, where he is now.”
“It’s . . . it’s Miki. Not Rin. Miki.”
“Miki?” Heran shook, hard. “Miki? Who’d go after Miki?”
“Lady?”
She looked at Nerik, who rose from his huddled position against the pitted stone wall. “Miki was talkin’ to those two men lookin’ for Rin. One seemed normal enough. He had dark hair and eyes, looked like he spent time outside. The other . . . he was smilin’ like a druggie guttershank on too much dargil. He had curly brown hair, kept tuggin’ at it while he talked to Miki. Was real nervous, kinda shaky. Lady, Miki laughed at them. They asked if he was Rin. Said sure, he was Rin, but he wasn’t takin’ any job from them. He thought it was funny, gettin’ mistook. I didn’t see them go after him, though. He was runnin’ an errand for Ruthie, said he was late, and needed to take the shortcut.”
Waylaid? Likely. Would it have made a difference if he grabbed a friend to go with him? No; they would both be dead.
“Where’s Rin?” The need to see him fiercely battered her.
“Don’t know,” Scand said, his voice trembling. “He came with us to set up, but I haven’t seen him. He was tired, so I thought he’d gone back to the Eaves after he made sure we all had partners.”
Where to look. Where would he go? Lykas’s corner? Did he have much to move? Were they carting Lyet’s things to the room? Or had he taken a jaunt elsewhere? Was he lying dead in another alley? She needed to know. She whirled, stopped; Rin and Lyet, Lykas and Jandra, racing to them.
Rin. Alive. Joy smashed through her.
And guilt obliterated it, shattering it into thousands of tiny pieces. It could have been him. She could have seen his head lying against the wall, empty of thought and feeling, just another unlucky rat meant for the lizards. Nothing left of the individual, only memories, of treasured times and vile regret, damning hopelessness and despair.
The rats jumped up, overjoyed, surrounding Rin and shouting and laughing through their tears and pain. He looked at her, unable to break free.
“Lady? Jandra came ‘n got us. What happened?”
“They killed Miki. Thought he was you.” Her heart steadied, her emotions fell into a dark, sludgy pit, coated by the numbness that let her walk and talk when she felt too broken to function. She cried, but she could not feel the heat of tears. “They thought he was you.”
Endre. Her family. Miki.
She whirled and ran.
“LADY!”
She would make certain, Perben never killed another.
