Whimpers fell from random lips, curses from others. People covered their mouths, some wiped tears from their cheeks, some clutched their loved ones close, as they stared at the tallest mountain across the Wrain River.

Another icy gust grasped the inky grey smoke and carried it north, revealing the fiery remains of the giant skyshroud. Black chunks blanketed the peak of Green Castle, blown to their resting place by one of numerous explosions. Longer pieces had slid downslope, wrecking noble neighborhoods and starting fires; those still burned, as hot as those above them, but the snow kept the flames from creeping further downhill.

Lapis shuddered as crisp wind careened over the Night Market roof, pelting her with tiny, frozen white bits. She closed her eyes until the gust died, then set her handheld tech weapon down on the crate to adjust her flapping coat. The thick bandages wrapped around her wound and keeping her left arm immobile meant she had to wear her warmer clothes draped over her shoulders and buttoned awkwardly in the front. The gaps allowed too much cold to waft across her torso. She squirmed and adjusted, which did no good, and, giving up, reclaimed the weapon.

She hated wielding it, but with her injury, she could not fight effectively with her gauntlets. Lucky her.

“The palace?” She had heard the same words whispered in strained voices over the course of the morning from stupefied Grey and Stone Streets residents.

“It’s gone,” she said. “The bulk of the skyshroud crashed on top of it. You have any relatives who worked there?”

The man turned to her, eyes watery in shocked fear. “No. But I knows them that do.”

She nodded. “My sympathies.” She doubted anyone informed the staff the ‘shroud was malfunctioning, giving them no time to evacuate. They would not have survived the ship crashing into the palace, let alone the subsequent explosions and fires.

Soft crying met her statement. The thought of those unlucky souls’ last moments tormented and terrified people, and she did not envy their nightmares about being trapped and unable to escape. The distressed disbelief and impossible hope someone escaped, when they knew they had not, was a hard truth to swallow.

She rubbed at her chest. Two days later, and her emotions lay like a cold, calm lake, no waves, no ripples, the frozen wind creating a thin crust of transparent ice over the surface. Numbness was an inadequate descriptor, but it did well enough. That was something the rats experienced, something the rebels understood, something Patch and Faelan felt deep within their souls.

The gusts dwindled, and the smoke again covered the charred remains of the gigantic ship and the upper half of the mountain.

“What’re we gonna do?” an older man shoved his fingers through his greying brown bangs and leaned heavily on his cane. “Heard the prince’s in Dentheria. How’s he gonna get here, with all the trouble?”

“The prince?” a woman, bundled up in knitwear to the point she looked like a stuffed toy, said with unmitigated disgust. “We’re better off with no king than a clueless, spoiled rich kid. He’s as useless as Gall was.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” the older man snapped.

“You think the king deserves our mourning?” the woman asked. “He executed my da and my honey on fake charges of being rebels. I’m glad he exploded with the ship. Too bad he didn’t suffer like they did, like me and my na did. He got kicked out of this life too easily.”

The mention of executions pricked Lapis’s calm, and she cleared her throat to stop the fight before it took place; she was not in the mood to be nice. She had already interfered in several, and her patience had lessened as her shoulder pain increased. “If you’re worried, visit a community center. They have information about what’s going on, and they can tell you about Lord Krios’s speech. The nearest one to the Night Market is in a temporary location on Red Stone, between Counterclock and the Docks Road.”

Lord Krios. The first couple times she repeated the spiel, she had to pause before his rebel name slipped out. Midir was still useful as a way for him to hide, considering so few could identify him, and she would never forgive herself for carelessly obliterating that.

The older man narrowed his eyes. “Lord Krios?”

“He’s descended from the pre-Dentheria royal family. He’s jumping in and helping Jilvayna recover from this tragedy, which is more than I can say for most of the civic leaders in Jiy.” At least, the ones who had not died at the palace waiting for a rebel execution that never happened.

“I heard ‘m talk when the throne disbanded the city guard,” a snuffly woman in a patched coat said. “He was with Veritiate Deathknell Jarosa and Sir Armarandos.”

Hopefully the stab of fear for Jarosa and the Ramiran rebels did not reflect in her expression. Jilvayna was not the only country eager to throw off the Dentherion Empire’s yoke. Lapis’s calmness cracked, and she nodded, giving herself time to claw back the numbing ice. “Yes, he was. They’re good friends, and both are concerned about the people of Jiy.”

“How you know that?” the older man asked.

“Chasers know people.” Patch held a tall glass in front of her face; Lapis set the weapon down and clasped the drinking vessel. It smelled like wake juice and astringent. What kind of healing powder did Caitria give them?

“It’s strong,” he said, anticipating her question. She gulped it down so she did not have to taste it; wake juice was bitter at the best of times, and adding something medicinal would not improve it. If it destroyed her pain, though, it was worth the aftertaste.

The older man’s eyes bulged as he stared at her partner’s black leather tech patch. While a common reaction to meeting the infamous chaser, Lapis had grown weary of it over the course of the morning. That Patch held his tongue about the unwanted scrutiny surprised her, but he knew as well as she, they needed to calm nerves, not exacerbate panic.

Despite the unease, he refused to stop the tiny blue lights from zinging around the edges. Scanning the area for potential threats outweighed the commoners’ innate fear of tech anything.

Ignoring the interest, Patch shook out his warmest cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She gave him the glass, touched the fur lining, and raised an eyebrow.

“Brone,” he said.

Ah. She needed to talk to her reading circle about the dangers of traversing the city when it was not necessary, and make the fear of the Beryl and the mercs stick. “Any updates?”

“Just that the rats using our room and Rin’s suite. Maydie and Movique have extended their offer of shelter to those who want to stay in the warehouse.”

“That’s nice of them.”

The man swallowed, as if he planned to ask a question despite his better judgment. “You know Jarosa ‘n this Krios?”

Every pair of eyes on the roof, including those of the Night Market guards, shifted to her partner. “Yeah. Worked for them both.” He hefted a jug of wake juice the size of his head onto the crate next to her. “Krios isn’t bad for a noble, and he cares what happens to Jilvayna. Jarosa’s tough, but you get on her good side, she’ll upend the world for you.” He motioned to the man with the bottom of the glass. “The Jilvayna rebels never would have fought for Krios if he weren’t a leader they believed in. They didn’t swear to put his parents on the throne, after all.”

“His parents?” The older man shook his head, wavering between disbelief and shock. “Thought the whole family died out two hundred years ago.”

“It wasn’t common knowledge,” Patch said. “Gall didn’t want to admit he had a competent rival, and Krios needed to stay alive.” He half-grinned. “I know what he did for Jilvayna without anyone the wiser, because I took those stakes. He paid to take care of problems the palace should have, but refused to, because Gall was hoarding metgal.” He purposefully looked at Green Castle. “Served him well, didn’t it?”

The woman in knits motioned to him, palm up, and glared expectantly at the older man. He lifted a lip, but before he spoke, a guard rose and deposited an annoyed glare on him. With a grimace, he took himself to the rooftop door and hobbled down the stairs.

He rubbed at his chin with the back of his glove, his irritation dwindling. “Where’d you get the juice?”

“At Red’s,” Patch said. “They have a barrelful heating over a fire.” He glanced at Lapis, and she smiled.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. He leaned down for a kiss, winced at the act, and then accompanied the guard downstairs. He needed to rest, too. A broken rib was not a minor injury, even if he treated it as such.

The roof quieted until a new group clambered up the stairs, eager to view the destruction. That eagerness died as the reality of the situation dawned on them, and they stared with sober unease, whimpers and tears at the smoke-shrouded mountaintop. Lapis repeated the offer of community center help—it was why she sat there, after all. Faelan and Midir did not trust many beyond the rebel cause, and she, with her stellar Grey Streets chaser reputation and sporting an injury that made her look unthreatening, could urge the residents to visit the community centers and have them follow through.

She never thought the centers would play such an important role in post-empire Jilvayna, but Lord Adrastos, Armarandos, and Krios anticipated the need. Who had divined that for them?

The silence alerted her; she looked over at the door.

A group in long black trench coats, dark glasses, swimming in an unearned air of superiority stepped onto the roof--janks.

Well, wasn’t that perfect? She rose, and the three other Night Market guards drew their weapons. The stern jank in front raised a hand, his lips a harsh line, his chin pitted with the need to hold strong emotion inside.

“We’re not here to make problems,” he said. “We just wanted to see the palace, and we’re told this is a good view.”

Lapis looked at the other guards, who nodded in wary agreement, and sat back down despite her inner caution screaming at her to remain standing. She did not want to provoke a fight, especially with armed Dentherions who had proved less than trustworthy during the last few weeks. She gripped her weapon and prepared to act, in case they decided on a little bloodbath to get them through the morning.

“Smoke will clear in the next gust,” she said, forcing nonchalance into her tone. They acknowledged her and walked to the merlons facing east; the Jiy residents slid to the sides, some trembling, but no one fled back into the embrace of the market. The owner had an attendant charging a roof access fee at the third-story door, and no one who paid those bits to see the devastation was going to go without fulfilling their morbid curiosity.

That was harsh. Most wanted to reassure themselves the terror of the puppet king had ended, though the future’s uncertainty weighed on them as they returned downstairs.

While Lapis saw the janks as enemies, their distress upon seeing the mountain after the smoke cleared pricked her inner kindness. They probably knew the fellow agents who died at the palace, and that returning to Dentheria was going to be a Pit’s worth of trouble because if their tech equipment and funds had been there, they were now a smoking pile of debris.

The leader looked away, his stubbled face darker, then jerked his chin at her, his eyes on her weapon. “Where’d you get that?”

“The Minq.”

He hissed as his fellows gasped. “The Minq?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a well-known Grey Streets chaser,” the wake juice guard said, his tone hard. “Minq thought she needed a bit more protection than her blades, considering.”

“Well-known?” His doubt as he took in her scuffed leather boots, her cold-weather ashen pants, her matching coat, her purple eyes, her black braid, irritated her. If he wished to see the palace, he could gawk at it like his companions and leave her appearance out of it.

“I’m Lady Lanth,” she said, with her best chaser smile. Playing up her alter ego’s casual confidence often set enemies off-balance, and she wanted him tipsy. “I take the small stakes no one else will touch because the pay’s too low. Because of that, I’m well-known and well-respected—and the Minq know, I’ll use this weapon to protect the citizens of the Grey Streets, not harm them.”

He opened his mouth, his eyes glinting with a nasty light.

“Like the view?”

The janks started as Patch and the wake juice guard exited the doorway, holding steaming mugs. The other guards accepted the warm drinks with wide grins of thanks, and her partner gave her the last one; milky broth. As she did not think she could eat more than that, she guzzled it, uncaring that it left a searing trail down her throat. Between the painkiller and the stinging warmth, she almost felt comfy.

“And you are?” the leader asked, annoyed.

“Patch.” He folded his arms and widened his stance. The wind caught his cloak, whipping it around his frame, making him look rakish and dangerous.

By the uneasy glances the janks exchanged, they had heard of him. Good. They should think twice about bullying those on the roof if they wished to keep themselves on the upside of the Pit. Patch did not find much of worth in anyone working for the Dentherion councils and had no reason to back down.

“I’m not up here to cause trouble, but to prevent it,” he continued. “Still, I’m curious, whose side you fall on.”

“Side?” The leader lifted his lip and hmphed. “There is no side. King Gall’s dead, by the looks of it.” He regarded the mountain, a hint of bleak desperation crossing his face before he regained his mask.

“He has an heir.”

The barking laughter of the group meant they understood the sulky royal was not going to ascend to the throne easily. “So we’ve been told. Doesn’t matter, he’s not coming back here.” The leader shoved his hands into his trenchcoat’s pockets, and Lapis tensed, waiting for him to pull a weapon.

“And how many of your buddies feel that way?”

“After the last few days? Most. We don’t want trouble.”

Then they never should have come to Jilvayna and instigated it. She congratulated herself on restraining her tongue, because harsh disbelief could quickly escalate into an exchange of tech beams.

“We just want to get back to Dentheria.”

Patch raised his eyebrow. “Yeah? Then do as Lanth suggests. Go to a community center and ask for help. Do it quick; you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire for a cause you couldn’t care less about.”

“Cause?”

“Jilvayna’s freedom.”

“The heir might not be coming back, but do you think Celem will let go so easily?”

“There isn’t a single person he could send here who won’t meet the Pit within a day.”

“You’re confident about that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I know who’ll get hired to take them out.”

The satisfied murmur of agreement from the Jilvaynans did not sit well with the Dentherions, but instead of taking issue, they shuffled off the roof with backwards glares and deep frowns. Lapis did not relax until a guard looking over the roof’s edge gave the all-clear that they’d left the market, and even then, Patch had to wrap her in a tight hug before she sagged.

“Why’d they even come here?” A guard with a fluffy pink hat at odds with the three yellow arm bands decorating her ankle-length, black felt security coat sipped at her drink, winced at the heat, but guzzled it anyway.

“Hearing about the skyshroud is different than seeing the destruction with your own eyes,” Patch said. “I’m guessing they lost contact with the janks at the palace, couldn’t get across the Wrain, heard the gossip, and wanted a broader picture.”

“Good thing we have a clear view,” Lapis grumbled. The Night Market sat on a hilltop without taller buildings obstructing the spectacle of Green Castle. Few other structures west of the river could say the same.

“You should see it at night,” the guard said. “The fires are a bright orange against the darkness. It’s ominous.” She eyed the two of them. “You think Lord Krios will take over? Heard guttershanks from Underville talking about the Beryl supporting someone else.”

Patch laughed, a strangely amused sound. “Someone else? Like who? Klow?”

The other guards joined him, and the pink-hatted guard shook her head, lips twitching. The commoners on the roof did not find it funny, and Lapis sided with them. Klow headed a syndicate of assassins. That made him a dangerous enemy.

“No. They said she’s from Taangis. Why the Beryl think a foreigner should take over, after we just got rid of the empire’s king, is beyond me.”

“And they say hunters are good at reading the room.”

Surprisingly, everyone chuckled at that, and the residents relaxed. Was Patch dismantling the Beryl’s reputation? If an odd remark did so without bloodshed, she approved. His arm tightened around her, and he kissed the side of her head. She snuggled into him, delighting in the scent from the soap they purchased at the bathhouse earlier that morning. She had wanted something that did not remind her of blood, smoke, snow-sodden earth, the burning of metal, and wildflowers had caught her interest. He scrubbed until he smelled like a meadow, and grinned as she smooshed her nose against his chest and breathed.

Delight, however, could not counteract her worry. How bold of Mesaalle Kez, to make plans to take over Jilvayna. True, her influence, if not her presence, had graced the land for years now, but Lapis thought it made little sense. The woman’s ancestor built his cult headquarters in Abastion, not Jilvayna. Taangis was on the continent of Pelthine, across the ocean to the east of Theyndora. Jilvayna sat center-west, with many, many other countries between. It had caused problems for the ancient Taangin Empire, because the central mountains interfered with supply chains. Had she learned nothing from her country’s history?

Patch stilled. The sudden shift concerned her, and she followed his gaze to Green Castle. The faint beams of tech weapons shot back and forth in a neighborhood that faced north, red on one side, cyan and a noxious green on the other.

Two days, and battles still raged, but not with the frequency or intensity she expected—a result of so many ambitious nobles meeting their end beneath the ‘shroud’s hull. Red meant Minq patrols, cyan represented someone with Dentherion tech, but green?

“Patch, who has green tech weapons?”

“Don’t know.”

The pink-hat guard squinted in the same direction. “I’ve never seen green,” she said. “Even the undermarket’s fake tech isn’t that color.”

A new enemy. They had a new enemy, and one who did not have aquatheerdaal-based tech. Wondrous.

More people tromped up the stairs, and Lapis clawed back her aplomb. She needed to calmly tell the citizens to visit the community centers because they could answer questions and—

Patch’s arm tightened around her waist, and she fought not to scream. What were those ex-rebel Pit sniffers doing there?

By the horror on Meinrad’s and Rambart’s faces, they did not expect her and Patch, either. Or did they?

A shorter body followed by taller shadows pushed through them, wearing a jank trench that dragged on the ground. He pushed back his cowl, exposing his smarmy smile. Cold trepidation shot through her chest.

Siward, ring boss Hoyt’s errand runner, backed by his guttershank brothers. Wasn't he dead?