After sitting the afternoon away, and then pacing to get her sluggish legs working, Lapis planted herself next to Patch. He looked dashing in his trench, and inspired, she drew her coat’s dangling leather strips tighter across her chest and buttoned them on the left side. It was a simple change, but one that made her feel fancier than she would have otherwise.
At least she did not have to speak.
Midir sucked in a breath and released slowly. Then took another. Elysia smiled at him and softly kissed his lips; he smoothed her cold-reddened cheek and returned it. Iole looked from one parent to the other, then pressed into her father’s leg, as if she knew something was going to happen, just not what. He settled his hand on her back in comfort.
“Lord Krios supported the community centers from my father’s first suggestion,” Armarandos said, his voice booming over the speakers, at odds with his even calmness. “As Gall looked upon the guard as a monetary liability and disbanded them, Lord Krios saw them as a necessary force and gave them a new home.”
He did a good job of sugarcoating the nature of the city guards under Gall’s hand. Her sarcastic thoughts mattered little; he needed to convince the commoner and the noble alike, not antagonize them—though the speaker lineup had done a good job of smoothing the way.
Lady Thais and Emmer, Yedin’s grandfather, had spoken before him, talking about Lord Krios’s support during hard times caused by throne incompetence. Those speeches held nothing new, but the familiar complaints provided common ground for the crowds to nod along to. They united the listeners in a way no other who sought Jilvayna’s throne could manage.
The rebel calling speakers pulled back the curtain and eyed Patch. “Patch, you’re next,” she said.
Wut?
Patch pushed from the wall and grinned at her shock, rubbing at the back of his neck in nervousness. Faelan must have asked him to say something and he agreed, however uncomfortable it made him. She had planned to dutifully follow Midir onto the stage and stand behind him, hands clasped, looking serious and deadly, but she could not let her partner face the throng alone.
She grabbed his hand; he stopped, and she tightened her fingers around his. “You don’t have to come with me,” he reminded her.
“I’m your partner and your rock.” As he was for her. If the roles were reversed, he would stand at her side because he would never let her face the terrifying alone.
Faelan chuckled, and he glanced at her brother before sighing and kissing her.
“Lucky!” Movique crowed as Maydie beamed. Neither had lost their luster, and why not, after standing in the cold listening to important people drone on about opportunity and support? They bustled over and patted their arms, then shooed them to the curtain.
Patch’s fingers squeezed hers, and he did not pull away as they slipped around the opening and up the ramp to the back of the stage—and her worry about him immediately flipped to fearful anxiety when she beheld the Fools and Ghouls-sized crowd.
Mimstone, the largest square the Lells had, overflowed except for narrow aisles marked by tape so people could leave if they needed to. Attendees squashed together shoulder to shoulder, sweating in the collective heat. She noted families, individuals, some dressed in Grey Steets best, some in their Vale and Meadows merchant garb, some in the heavy work outfits worn by Docks workers, all intent on Armarandos and his towering figure.
The reading circle rats waited at the edges, some bored, some jittery, some whispering to the Minq and rebel guards who stood in front of the platform, armed with swords, arms crossed. More lined the rooftops, tech weapons in hand, and above them, a lone Jils bird flew, scanning for danger. The place was as safe as it could get, and once Midir took the stage with the terrons and khentauree, no one would dare approach.
Scand waved at them before he bent over, slipped into an aisle, and scurried towards an exit.
What was up? She tamped down on the immediate urge to follow him; whatever it was, Rin and those protecting the square would handle it.
They joined Fyor; he wore community center green, the coat thick enough for comfort, the hat flaps pulled over his ears to keep them toasty, unlike his nose and cheeks, which looked as red as rubies, and his eyes, which watered with cold. He smiled in greeting, and they both nodded in acknowledgement.
She nervously perused the crowd. “When did Faelan ask you, anyway?”
“This morning.” Her partner hmphed, though not in annoyance. “It makes sense. I’m a commoner, a chaser, someone who has connections throughout Jilvayna and who has worked for Lord Krios and not flung him into the Pit.”
Fyor chuckled. “Quite the endorsement.” He eyed her. “If you’re up to it, you should speak, too. It’ll mostly be for the Jiy audience, but others will admire your charity work.”
Patch hugged her, squelching his amusement with difficulty. Did she look as flabbergasted as she felt? Did Fyor know what he asked?
Of course he did. He likely recalled Trixsy’s introduction and the cheers of support that echoed through the square. She, as an Underville boss and an organizer who worked to get better pay and conditions for the little people at the Docks, had earned community respect and would not throw the goodwill away to support someone she did not believe authentic and dedicated.
The same could be said of her, as commoners and syndicate shanks had an odd respect for her teaching rats to read.
“Together or never, we fight for our lands, our people, our way of life. We stand, together or never, as the Wolf.”
Armarandos raised the microphone as the crowd cheered. Shocked, she smashed her lips shut so she did not gawk at him. He spoke the Wolf Collaborate vow? And the average citizen applauded? Her father’s words must ring true for them, and she teared. The declaration proved as significant now as when he sent letters to the disparate rebellions, suggesting teamwork, rather than remaining aloof and alone, would serve them better in their fight against Dentheria.
Her family died for those words. And now . . .
Armarandos turned and motioned to them. “Please welcome Chaser Patch and Lady Lanth to the stage.”
The cheer for them equaled the support of the ex-knight. Lapis’s tummy squirreled around as they walked across the stage to the man, who handed the speaking device to her partner. He accepted it with a nod; she forced a smile, the corners of her mouth feeling alien to her as he winked his encouragement and joined Fyor.
Just them, in front of thousands scattered around Jilvayna. This was a Midir thing, an Armarandos thing, not a her thing, certainly not a Patch thing.
“Like Armarandos said, I’m Patch,” he said. The cheers strengthened, and he paused to let them die down, finally raising his hand for quiet. “I’m a chaser who’s worked stakes throughout Jilvayna, and I know the evil that rests at the end of them. And yeah, I’ve taken the ones Lord Krios placed.
“He saw problems in Jilvayna Gall refused to fix because our once and dead king was more concerned about raiding the public coffers to pay for his lavish lifestyle than governing. So Krios personally paid for my services to remedy some of those problems.”
The crowd oohed, and her gaze drifted over the audience; hundreds peered up in rapt attention, despite how long they had already stood on hard paving stones. They should be grumbly, not enchanted. So many people, so many people; what was she going to say?
He paced away from the center of the stage, belying nervousness; he would never admit it, but she had been with him long enough to recognize the signs. “Those stakes targeted the callous and the greedy, the ones who exploited the common people for power and money. I’ve traveled across Jilvayna to end that evil, and I’m still walking; they’re not. He hired me to protect the citizens of this country when Gall refused, and I gladly followed through.”
Another cheer, and Lapis inwardly laughed. Would they think the same, if they knew the rebellion backed those stakes?
“I brought barons to justice. I captured corrupt magisters. I shoved nobles into a jail cell as they whined that their leadership roles protected them from consequences. What we accomplished fueled Gall’s hate, and Gall sought to terminate his interference. He failed, and here we are, successful in defiance, while he rots in a smoking hole.
“How many of you were relieved, when you heard Gall was dead?” Shouts rang out. “How many of you thanked the Seven Gods that retribution finally ended him?” More cheered, with a few claps and calls. “He harmed so many of us, through his greed, through his paranoia. My partner knows that, intimately.” He turned on his heel, walked to her, and handed her the device.
The sea of faces blurred as she brought the fuzzy top to her lips. “I’m Lady Lanth,” she said, her voice quivering. Dammit, she needed her aplomb now more than ever. Her nerves dwindled at the cheer, one as long and intense as that for Patch. She glanced at him and he grinned, more in relief she now spoke than in support. Ah well. “I’m a chaser by day, and at night, I have a table at the back of the Eaves tavern where I teach urchins to read. It may not seem like a school setting, but once they become adults, they have an ability they can use to get off the streets and into a better life.”
She cleared her throat, realized the sound echoed, and did it again without the mic so near her mouth. She needed water. Wake juice. Whatever. Tamping down on the urge to scurry backstage and grab something, she took a deep breath and brought the device back to her lips.
“You may be wondering about what my partner said. Let me start at the beginning. Well, my beginning. I’ve known Lord Krios for my entire life. He was one of the first people to hold me after I was born.”
The crowd gasped at that and quieted; she had not expected that reaction, and she fought for her Lady Lanth persona. She desperately needed it.
“My father was his best friend, so I grew up calling him Uncle Kri.” She swallowed her tears. “He was a bit different back then. I always thought he was outlandish, in his soft, bright silks and stripes and patterned pants. How he would howl when the rains started and all that pretty get-up would get splattered with mud. One time he caught me laughing after a particularly harsh storm, where his entire outfit had flecks of mud from what the horses kicked up, and instead of scolding me, he laughed with me. He showered kindness on me and my siblings, and took being my brother’s godfather seriously.
“As foppish as he was, even back then he wanted more for Jilvayna than what Gall provided. He saw hunger enter homes during Final Year and Early Year. He saw the fruits of hard work siphoned into barons’ pockets, then given to the crown and the empire, leaving nothing for those with calloused hands. He saw the sick denied medicine, the elderly denied dignity, the fortunate denied respect and stability. My father and mother, my uncle, would sit in the parlor with him and plan ways to mitigate the harm. It wasn’t easy, because Gall was greedy and the Councils didn’t care about us puppet states unless they could drain money and resources from us.
“To combat the empire, my father created the Wolf Collaborate. What is that, you ask? Well, it’s a coalition of fourteen rebellions in western Theyndora. My father, as Leader of the Jilvaynan rebellion, saw working together as the only way to defeat Dentheria and stop its abuses. He had the backing of Veritiate Deathknell Jarosa, who brought the Shaloar rebels on board. After that, Hestora, Abastion, and others joined.
“Together or never, and the Collaborate succeeded where the individual rebellions had continuously failed. They shared intelligence, they shared resources. They backed each other up, and they fought not only for their countries, but for all the peoples under the empire’s rule. Together, they took out the Hestora Weapons’ Palace. Together, they took out the Hellock Transportation Base here in Jilvayna, interfering with the weapons shipments Gall depended on to terrorize us.
“He panicked. He ruled by the empire’s pleasure, and they could yank that support and replace him if he didn’t bring the Jilvaynan rebellion to heel. The palace placed a traitor in the ranks, and that traitor led the raid on my home, Nicodem, when I was twelve.
“That day was bright, cloudless. I’d gone to pick berries with my six-year-old brother and my best friend. We had fun, we returned with somewhat full baskets and berry stains on our mouths. Walking back we saw riders, but recognized only one. The traitor. My little brother went to say hi. They killed him. My little six-year-old brother. They killed him.”
Her voice hitched. Should she even say this? Too late to back away. She felt Patch’s hand on her back, and she swallowed before continuing. “Neola and I panicked and ran. When the soldier caught me, he slashed at me, only cut my arm, not my body. Dumb luck, his buddy’s horse almost ran him over and I got away.” She crisscrossed her left forearm, tracing the scars that she wanted to forget. “I got away, but Neola did not. They hit her with a mace, and she died. I was alone, I was terrified, and I knew evil hunted me. I ended up at Neola’s house. I don’t even remember how I got there.
“I found out they killed everyone else at Nicodem. They killed my mother and father, my brother and sisters who had nothing to do with rebellion but were guilty due to family. They killed the old cook who treated everyone like her grandchildren. They killed the keeper of the kennel, who raised every pup with love and care. They killed the bubbly mother in charge of the farm animals, and she left two young children behind, children who will never remember her. They killed the cheerful gardeners who delighted in Early Year blooms and the staff who kept everything in order despite the chaos that surrounded them. They didn’t spare the animals, left their corpses to burn with the mansion.
“My terror wasn’t done. The soldiers raided every nearby estate and town, hunting for those who escaped. They showed up at Neola’s mother’s door, breaking it down to get in. She hid me in a coffin of a newly deceased servant, and that’s the only reason I got away. Lady Thyra saved my life while obliterated by the loss of her daughter.
“I ran from the house that night because I had no choice. I ran and ran, but the threat would never end, so I went into hiding. I didn’t know what else to do. Uncle Kri didn’t have that luxury. He and my eldest brother had to pick up the pieces of the rebellion and continue the fight against our evil king who ordered the murder of a six-year-old to stay in power. With Jarosa’s help, they kept the Collaborate together despite the uncertainty and dread that followed.
“My family was the warning to all the Wolf, and Dentheria didn’t want any rebel to forget the consequences for crossing the empire and her puppet’s unjust rule.
“They didn’t forget. Instead of sundering, they found strength in each other. Together, they worked to bring down the empire and its puppet kings. They fought for every country destroyed by council greed, for every family who had loved ones taken and executed for nothing, for every person who lost someone to disease or lack of food. They worked towards fairness rather than to glut a court noble’s bank account, and despite the hardships, they never gave up.” She touched her chest, only then realizing the crowd was dead silent. Oh no. She had said something wrong, and she had no idea how to reverse it. She was not an elegant speaker, she only had her heart to guide her. Dammit.
“They never gave up,” she whispered, gripping the mic in both hands. “They forged ahead, knowing that, if caught, they and their loved ones would suffer my family’s fate. For Uncle Kri, that fight is in his blood. One terrified princess escaped the Dentherion slaughter when they invaded Jiy so long ago, and he, as her descendant, has fought, as she did, to return Jilvayna to Jilvaynans.
“It’s not his singular battle; that’s the promise of the Wolf Collaborate. But it goes further than that. My father said together or never, and laid the foundation for life beyond what Dentheria stole. He dreamed of sovereignty, yes, but not under a single ruler. He dreamed of community, a combination of all voices, not just the greedy, self-serving ones of empire-backed rulers and nobles. My brother Faelan and I carry our father’s vision, and we support Uncle Kri, who shares it.” She swept her hand before her, motioning to the crowd. “Collaboration, community. It’s why you’re still standing in the cold, on hard paving stones, listening to so many others. It’s why they agreed to speak about their support of Uncle Kri and a new Collaborate. We’ve seen the destruction Dentheria brings. Let us turn from their example and work together with every other country that breaks the shackles of empire. Let us raise each other up and stand, together or never, as the Wolf.”
She did not expect the cheer. Hot rushed down her cheeks, and she wiped at the tears, not sure what to do, to say. She hadn’t meant to cry; how embarrassing.
A hand settled on her shoulder; she looked up at Midir, and smiled, however much pain and regret rode it. His tears matched hers, and he hugged her, as tight as her father used to. He took the microphone, and she retreated with Patch; Elysia held Phaeton’s basket in one hand and hugged her as she walked past, providing support in front of so many who might see that as weakness. Jetta did the same, and Iole hugged her after, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Had she sounded that sad?
Varr could not allow pain to show at that moment, but the wet behind his eyes was enough to prove it.
She wanted, desperately, to bury her head in her brother’s chest and weep, and from the look of him, he needed the same. She hugged him too, and they mourned together, however briefly, for time lost and family loss, for everything that stood between them and for their re-found connection.
She pulled back, only then realizing that neither the khentauree or the terrons had joined them. She frowned and looked up at Faelan; his soft smile confused her.
“Ghost suggested a change of plan, and we agreed.”
What did that mean?
