Knock knock.

Lapis stared at the wall in front of her nose, bleary-eyed, then rolled over, the mattress creaking under her weight. If either Rin or Lyet woke her, they would have knocked, then used a key to enter. Who disturbed her so early? “Who is it?”

“Ciaran.”

Ah. Sighing, she dragged herself from the warm blankets and shuffled to the door, wishing she did not feel like a limp rag. As predicted, nightmares of her childhood escape from Nicodem interrupted her fitful sleep, and she woke herself screaming. Rin and Lyet had checked on her, concerned. She reassured them and sent them back to their room, disliking their skepticism but too weary to call them on it. Hopefully they did not mention it to Faelan; there was nothing he could do to salve her heart and her memories.

She opened the door, shuddered as cold slipped past Ciaran and into her room, and motioned for him to enter. Shivering, she left him to close the portal while she crashed onto the bed, crossed her legs, and wrapped the blankets around her. He eyed her closely, then slid one of the two chairs away from her small table with his foot and sat down. He unwrapped his scarf, which caused his blond hair to erupt in static, and tossed it onto the scruffy wooden surface. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Not much,” she admitted, though she refused to tell him why. Ciaran was not her biological older brother, but he played one often enough in their childhood, she did not discount his nagging if he thought she needed it.

His humming growl meant he knew why she had difficulties, but did not wish to pester her about it. That suited her and her hazy thoughts. “I’m sorry I got you up. I should have waited a bit longer because I’m betting you didn’t get in ‘til late. Anyway, we have a group of leaders from smaller rebel Houses traveling here for a briefing, and Faelan wants you to tell them about Dentheria.”

She sucked in a ragged breath. At least she would not have to entertain them in her room. She wished she had a larger space for visitors; now that she had reconnected with her brother and rebels unexpectedly showed up on her doorstep, it would be nice to have a receiving room. The table, two chairs, the wash basin, the bed, the set of drawers and the wardrobe did not leave the impression she wanted to make. “You should ask Rin,” she told him. “He’s fond of retelling the ‘shroud crash.”

Ciaran huffed on laughter and ran a tanned hand through his soft bangs. “That doesn’t surprise me. It’s a grand story, from what Faelan’s said.”

“I’m glad we weren’t closer. I’ve no want to get caught in an inferno caused by Dentherion neglect.”

“I still can’t believe it. It seems so outrageous, like some rumor Gall made up to sow terror in the populace and keep himself in power. While people hate the empire, they also don’t want to suffer through instability when it burns.”

“Did Faelan tell you, that the military leaders were at a secret meeting when the ‘shroud crashed into the Leads?”

“Yeah. The workstation’s been monitoring the situation, and this morning someone leaked a list of important people who supposedly died. The only military hierarchy left are territory commanders, the Tribute envoys to the Councils, and Commander Ferant. He’s in charge of the western army, and he was in surgery in Alesha when everything went down. The Councils voted to place him as acting Commander General. It’s unclear if he even knows what happened in Trave, or if he’s aware enough to accept the burden.”

“Sounds like Celem’s already leading them in the right direction,” Lapis muttered as she dragged her fingers through her hair, worrying knots. She needed a bath before beginning a day of lounging, answering questions from curious Eaves patrons, and dealing with nosy street rats.

“To the Pit?” Ciaran asked. “Yeah.”

“When’s Midir and Faelan going to act?”

“When Jarosa and Carnival do.” He hissed, annoyed, and slumped further down in the chair. “They told Azzo to wait. He refused. The Wolf Collaborate wants to attack in unison, so disparate puppet kings aren’t driven into paranoid action by a fellow king’s demise. He’s obliterated that, so they need to plan for frightened royalty who know, rather than just suspect, that rebels will capitalize on Dentheria’s problems.”

“It’s not such a terrible ask. Caitria said Standic’s a weak king, but is there more to it?”

“A bit. Standic issued a proclamation that blames the crash on rebels and vows to hunt every last one of them into Rekarsius’s embrace. It’s a stupid decision, especially if Dentheria decides to blame a syndicate. He’s pushed Abastion’s rebels, and he’ll get buried in return.”

“That’s bumped up the Wolf’s timetable, then.”

“Yeah. End Year isn’t the time for it, but we need to hit the puppet kings while Dentheria drowns under a lack of leadership and bungles their troubles.”

“I don’t understand, Ciaran. Why conduct this secret meeting at the Leads, underneath skyshrouds that leadership knew had power issues? It makes no sense.”

He settled his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek on his hand, worry wrinkling his brow. “I’d almost guess the Councils kept the aquatheerdaal shortage from even the highest command and they didn’t know the danger. That seems unlikely, though.”

Lapis knocked her head back against the wall. “Celem said Makethryn was meeting with the military leaders at the Leads when the ‘shroud crashed. What if they were in Alesha and not Trave, and Celem decided to take them all out at the same time? What evidence do we have, other than rumor, that they met at the Leads rather than the capital?”

“We don’t,” Ciaran admitted. “And no one’s popped up declaring they survived, and family members of the deceased aren’t talking.” He shifted on the chair, antsy. “Truthfully, I don’t know how Celem pulled off this coup without military support, and it looks like no one’s around to ask. I mean, what about Makethryn’s bodyguards? They’re infamous for elite training against assassination attempts.”

“Think a syndicate’s backing him?”

“We don’t have enough information right now, but the Minq don’t think so. Jo Ban said the major synbosses are reaching out to others, and not just because they see opportunity in Dentheria’s failure. They’re concerned Celem’s going to blame one of them and cement his hold on power by bringing his target to justice. No one wants to deal with that bullshit since their tech resources are running just as low as the empire’s.”

“Minq are ahead in that, I think.”

Ciaran’s small but maliciously joyous smile pricked her curiosity. “You could say that. Jo Ban was the only terrboss to take the depletion of aquatheerdaal seriously, and he hired scientists to work on the problem. As far as I’m aware, the Jilvaynan Minq, because of his efforts, are the only syndicate-related entity that doesn’t have to worry about their tech dying at the most inopportune time. He said his insistence was one of the reasons their patriarch plopped him in Jilvayna instead of giving him an Alesha-based post. Now they’re begging him to share with the wider syndicate.”

“Does he have the arms to share?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but probably—and the price will be steep. He’s planned for this eventuality—but I don’t think he anticipated Celem’s coup. Midir’s said that ass has spent the better part of his adulthood trying to weasel his way into a syndicate. He wanted a large, already-trained group who could be his personal mercenaries, made no secret about his desires, and failed. No self-respecting, settled synboss wanted to hand power to a sulky brat who throws tantrums to get his way. He’ll see the rejections as fodder for revenge.”

That sounded like a certain Meergevenis markweza she knew. “So there’s a reason he’d target the syndicates.” Vengeance could drive a person into insane action—and one born to wealth and privilege, who saw others as peons destined to bow before his greatness, would believe it justice to destroy the ones who denied him.

Ciaran sighed, a sound torn from the gut. “I feel like there’s something else going on here—and I’m not the only one. The way this has all played out just feels wrong. Oh.” He half-lidded his blue eyes and pursed his lips in disgust. “Before I forget. Guess who’s reappeared and been asking after you?”

She blinked. Reappeared? Sick squirrels raced around her tummy. “Not Perben.”

“No. His mother has him on so tight a leash, I don’t think he can pee without her present.” He winced and laughed in disbelieving respect. “I never saw Merika as a strong woman, but a cloying mother and wife blinded by kindness because that pleased others. My mother insisted she would keep him in line. She was right. Lapis, Perben broke Merika’s heart, and in doing so, broke her. He shattered how she perceived others, and now she feels like she has to make amends for the pain she caused, even though her son’s at fault. All those atonements center on his atrocious acts, and she’s not letting him forget it.”

Perben deserved whatever stranglehold she placed on him.

“But no, not Perben. I’m talking about Meinrad and Rambart.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really.” Why would slugs crawl out from under their rock during a vicious storm?

“They showed up here the morning after word spread the ‘shroud crashed in Dentheria. They know Faelan and Midir are planning something, and they want to rejoin the Blue Council.”

“They can throw themselves in the Pit.”

“Yes, but we don’t need them spreading rumors in rebel circles right now, either. They still have contacts in rural Jivayna and they’re using them to aggravate Faelan. Dachs had a few words for them, but if they decide to brave his wrath and visit again, give them this.” He pulled a small envelope out of his coat’s interior pocket, tapped it at her, and set it on the table. Faelan’s official seal, his first initial surrounded by a twisted ellipse, decorated the exterior. “Don’t interact, don’t banter. Just give them that.”

Sour filled her mouth. She had no want to deal with Meinrad and Rambart again. Their neglect and blind eyes kept Perben in a position to hand rebels over to the crown. Just because they were one-removed from the villain did not mean they held no responsibility for those deaths.

Their willful ignorance led to the murder of her family. Of Miki. She would never forgive them for that.

“Dachs is making breakfast downstairs. Want some?”

She nodded. “If you could order, I’ll be down after a bath.” And hopefully no other renter had chosen that time to use the communal bathing room. She did not want to disturb Rin because she needed to use the suite’s tub.

“Take your time. I need a break from the House, and having a breakfast meeting with you will extend it.”

“Happy to help.”

He chuckled and rose. “I’ll return the favor.”

When she finally made it downstairs, wearing a warm black tunic and heavy black pants, her wet hair braided and coiled and not caring how she looked, warm pastries from Candycakes sat with the steaming fried eggs and meat, waiting for her. She had not expected the return so soon, but she enjoyed every bite of it.