She shouldn’t have, she really shouldn’t have, but she needed the shot of energy. Wincing at the taste of wake juice that refused to leave her tongue, Lapis led the way into the freezing night, Dachs and Dagby a step behind.

The ex-chaser liked the stuff as unsweetened as Patch. Men. Why did they drink it that way? Masochists, the lot of them.

So was she, tromping out in the cold. Yes, she wanted a distraction from panic over Jarosa, but chasing a stray khentauree who might well harm her and her companions would not soothe her heart, her soul. The deathknell would laugh and tell her to complete her mission, but the woman’s staunchness did not dwell within her, no matter how much she admired it.

She never found that a problem, either. She would smile and remind Lapis that kindness went further than violence, because people would remember her with fondness rather than hate. Fondness paid forward, while hate swirled in the poisonous past and corrupted all it touched.

“Miyomon’s cubbie is in the Downs,” she told them as she fiddled with her scarf. No reason to suck in the brunt of cold and destroy her lungs before she had to act. Both Dachs and Dagby wore buffs that were part of the barkeep’s rebel wardrobe, and they looked far more menacing than she did in her knitted wrap and hood. Ah well; the mercs could target them, if they happened upon the group, giving her a chance to strike.

“The kids are everywhere, aren’t they?” Dagby asked. “I was vaguely aware of that as a chaser because I paid a few for info, but never realized how many lived in cubbies around the Grey and Stone Streets.”

“Underville takes care of their own,” Dachs agreed. “But the Streets don’t have the same protections. Lanth here’s done good by them, better than the temples.” He hmphed, his fingers thrumming on the strap to his ‘keeper pack. “I give to the one that lets the rats take baths, but the rest are useless.”

He did? The Old Gods’ Temple laundry always had towels and soap awaiting the kids when they “snuck” in for a wash. Perhaps his funds bought the supplies while the temple kept the large tubs tucked in the side room heated for use.

“Why not congregate? That would be safer,” Dagby said.

“The cubbies have escape routes and hidden entrances, and the rats have a network of alarms to warn of danger. They aren’t as scattered as you may think.” Lapis tugged her hood further over her face as they entered Coin Street. The place, while not as busy as a typical frozen night, still had the drunken rowdies hopping bars and the late-evening workers searching for a meal, and she did not want to deal with a face-full of rancid beer breath if one decided she looked accommodating.

“Any other rats in the Downs?” Dachs asked.

“A couple. I think Heren’s still there, and some of the older Lells rats. The Downs has a lot more traffic than other places with cubbies, but it’s the above ground kind. Shanks usually don’t mess around there because the bouncers at Shenanigans and Nathaways will chase them down for interrupting business as usual.”

Dagby chuckled in agreement. “I had an encounter with a Shenanigans bouncer once. Damn near took my head off. Still have no idea what I’d done to warrant the attention, as I chased a known hunter with unremarkable skills but a huge mouth. She hadn’t even taken shelter there, but he came at me, sword drawn.”

“I’ve never had trouble,” she admitted. “The Shenanigans owner saw me save a rat from a shank in the Lells and spread the word I wasn’t a threat. That helped me chasing shanks into the area; bouncers would take them out and leave me to haul them to a guardhouse.” She appreciated the help, but lugging unconscious bodies was not a fun time. She always returned with their share of the stake, too, which, she assumed, sweetened their disposition towards her. “We should look at the tracks first, but it might not hurt to ask around at both places, see if anyone saw the mercs.”

“I know Benjie and Caff,” Dachs said. “Let me talk to them, see if their staff’s overheard anythin’.”

“Great. You do that while Dagby and I check out the tracks. Let’s meet at the arch over Bardle Street.”

The barkeep chuckled and patted her arm. “Now that I know, I see your dad and your brother in you. Born leader.” With that, he hastened off.

Dagby’s eyes crinkled in laughter, but none escaped his lips. Good. Teasing about her leadership skills would only irritate her, especially when she felt unremarkable, adrift, and alone. Leaders were Jarosa and Carnival, her brother, Midir, not insignificant she.

She expected silence as she and Dagby fast-walked to Miyomon’s cubbie, but the ex-chaser kept a soft, steady conversation going. He did not seem offended she had little to say, and relief swam through her he did not pry about Jarosa or her family or a myriad of other things he must want answers to. Instead, he spoke about Cassa and plans for Tovi’s birthday—one she had not realized crept close—and a few tidbits about the reaction to her speech in Underville.

He quieted as they reached the nearest, lamp-lit alley leading into the Downs; how many shanks had he chased inside? She had followed several because they had no chance of scurrying up the chipped grey stone walls or hiding behind random stacks of garbage. The doors, sunk a handspan into the wall, did not provide a frame an agile stake could hide in or use to bound up to the second floor windowsills, and they had no chance of scrambling onto a third or fourth story ledge or the flat-topped roofs.

She had no idea what the tall, expressionless structures had been before the Dentherion invasion; she might have assumed apartment buildings, but they stood in the center of an expansive ring of majestic mansions that still shone nice, despite the years and lack of upkeep. No architect would build such an dour complex in the middle of a nobles’ neighborhood. Would they?

No. Maybe they had something to do with the abandoned temple and cemetery that sat on the northern edge of the Downs, the one Scand called home. The alleyway Miyomon spoke about ran straight to it.

Whatever they had been, the ground and first floors now housed stores, restaurants, and taverns like Shenanigans and Nathaways, while the upper ones had suites for rent. Rumor claimed several still had ancient décor, like vases and paintings. She found that odd, but perhaps a few of the more opulent, Grey Streets neighborhoods had avoided Dentheria’s boot.

They hastened down the lane, their boots crunching the unlucky bits of rough ice that stuck up from the frozen slush. Random others did the same, some stopping at a door to unlock and slip inside, some hastening to other destinations. They skirted a courier on a horse attempting to read an address by the light of his lantern and wove down narrower walkways before reaching the intersection of alleys below Miyomon’s cubby.

Lapis pointed at a two-story, three-walled segment jutting from the wall. From the exterior it seemed like a strange bit of design, but considering the gouges in the interior stone, it had once served as storage of some kind, or maybe a supply closet. The other tall structures had similar features, with a door at ground level that led to a space the size of a walk-in pantry and stairs to the right that reached the second floor. Because of the small dimensions and decrepit natures, they served as cubbies for rats; the boarded-up doorways left a gap for a child to squirm through but no obvious entrance for an adult.

“That’s Miyomon’s cubby,” she whispered. “He lives on the second floor. I see where Copper came and added some sturdier wood to the door and reinforced the flap.”

“Surprised the owners don’t kick them out.”

“The space is the size of a walk-in pantry. They can’t rent them, so they let the kids make them into cubbies. That way darker elements don’t take up residence.”

“Ah.” Dagby nodded and headed for the walls opposite Miyomon’s shuttered windows.

The few passing through who noticed them hurried on when they realized they used handheld lights, the fear of tech haunting them. Lapis would have joined them not so long ago, but the old fears had died with the king; he no longer commanded executions for those found with Dentherion mechanisms, and Midir had no cause to follow that empire demand.

“Too many people take these routes,” Dagby murmured. “Everything’s trampled. I see a stray dog print, that’s it.”

“He said they both took this way towards the cemetery,” Lapis said, motioning forward. “There’s enough traffic, if we happen upon the mercs, hopefully they’ll think we’re locals and leave us be.”

They followed the alley, searching for any sign of either party. Overlapping bootprints obscured hoof and pawprints, though a single doggie step in snow near the wall, combined with a frozen wash of liquid running down the surface, proved they’d gone that way. The mercs seemed to have kept to a straight line, crossing busier streets and entering alleys on the other side.

Unease settled in her chest. Why did LX70 head straight for the cemetery, crossing busy streets to get there? Or did the dogs sniff someone else that interested them, leading their handlers on a wild chase?

“Lanth,” Dagby whispered. His light pointed at dainty hoofprints in the snow next to the left-hand wall, though no pawprints sank through the crusty pile next to them. They followed their turn left at the intersection; if LX70 headed that way, she would have trotted straight onto Bardle, the busiest Downs street. Even if she managed to get her flickering whatever tech working and crossed without anyone the wiser, no one would miss the pursuing mercs.

She leaned closer to the ex-chaser. “That alley leads straight to Bardle. Someone should have noticed her if she crossed the street, and if not, I doubt the mercs kept silent.”

Dabgy’s light trailed up the sides of the walls, then nodded. “There’s no way to the tops of the buildings from down here.”

“You have to take the interior stairwells to the roof. In daylight you can see the holes where evacuation stairs were bolted, but they’re long gone.”

She glanced up at the cubby overlooking the intersection; the last she knew, an older teen who picked Candycakes lived there, and while they would nod in passing, she had no interactions with him otherwise. Not comfortable disturbing him and asking if he saw something strange, she shuffled the way the hooves pointed, eyes to the snow along the wall.

Several others joined them, talking and laughing over the day’s mundane events. The cheer surprised her; most other neighborhoods had a somberness to them, as if the despair and uncertainty of the residents tainted the air. She and Dagby kept to the side and let them pass; they received curious glances but nothing more.

Unsurprising, they lost the tracks before reaching Bardle, and the main road’s sidewalks, clear of snow, provided no hint of an errant khentauree or pup print. The slush in the lane had frozen, and traffic crushed it; no chance of tracing their quarry across.

Dagby stepped to the side and leaned against a wall, clicking his light off before shoving it into his pants pocket. “No one looks afraid, so if the stakes came this way, it was a while ago.”

“Hopefully Dachs found out.” Feeling disappointed at the anticlimactic nature of the outing, combined with the twinge of shoulder pain and weariness, she headed across the street.

As anticipated, they walked to the next intersection without discovering a trace of non-human tracks. The meeting of alleyways created a larger square, and signs to two taverns and an eatery faced the center, lanterns hanging over them bright enough to keep the area well-lit. People packed the places while others waited in outside lines, jumping up and down to keep warm or leaning against the walls and conversing with companions and family. No one seemed eager to leave and lose their spot, and considering the mouth-watering meat and fish scents wafting to them, she understood why.

Were residents finally overcoming their uncertainty and stepping out again? Or had they hidden long enough, they ran out of food and needed to stop at a dining establishment for a meal? Hopefully the outings proved that Midir’s speech had soothed the overall dread Jiy felt over the king’s death and the empire’s slow fall.

“I don’t see how either LX70 or the mercs crossed without someone seeing them,” Dagby said as they returned to Bardle. “There’s too many people.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Everyone seems in good spirits, so we might be late enough to miss those who noticed.” The combination of streetlights and business doorway lanterns kept the road bright, and she doubted either party crossed without witnesses.

“I think it’s odd, she came this way. Scans would show how many humans walked this street.”

“If she knew the dogs tracked her, she might have hoped the numbers would help hide her scent.”

“Maybe.” His doubt reflected her own. Well, if a mechanical being did streak across to another alley, someone would have brought the news to Shenanigans or Nathaways.

“Let’s get to the arch. Hopefully Dachs has better luck.”

As with the buildings, Lapis did not know the history of the arch, but the gigantic stone structure rose two stories in the air, the worn surface resplendent with carvings. She thought they depicted a battle triumph; on the southern side, people bearing shields and spears climbed towards a towering man carrying a sword and pointing it at horizontal bodies without heads, while the northern one had robed figures holding baskets making their way to a central giant who impaled soldiers on horses with the sunrays emitting from his head. Gruesome, but the damage to the forms muted the effect.

Damage. The image of Jarosa flying through the air, landing, not moving, haunted her.

“Who do you think carved this?” Dagby asked, touching one of the figures with the tip of his gloved finger.

She jerked away from darker thoughts. “I don’t know, but I bet the Jils’ historian does.”

His eyes crinkled with humor. “Darl’s a fount of info. Granna Cup’s fascinated with some of the tales, as they contradict stories she’s heard since childhood. Taangis, then Dentheria, warped the words, and ended up warpin’ who we became in turn.”

Before she inquired after the interesting take, she noticed Dachs hustling to them, his body language stiff. She popped away from the arch’s base, and Dagby’s amusement faded.

“This’s worse than we thought,” Dachs muttered. He hustled away from casual listeners, and they followed. Pulling his buff down, he leaned closer, his dark eyes flashing. “Only talked to Benji. He saw me, immediately made a line for me.” Half-laughing, he tapped the stiff fabric. “He remembers when I ran with the rebels, thought I’d taken it back up. Told him I had, just for tonight. He said Copper’s missin’.”

Her heart dropped to her toes. “Missing?”

“He helped the rats board up, was supposed to do the final ones this mornin’, and never made it back to the community center. Guards came lookin’ for him this evenin’. People said they last saw him around midday. Seems a couple Stone Streets rats made cubbies in the Ella Theater’s balconies, and he went to check on them.”

Dagby snagged her arm as she sucked up a tearful breath and tottered. Ella? Not Ella.

“Lanth?” he asked as memories crashed through the thin layer of forgetfulness she had thrown over them. She had been busy since her . . . her  . . . since that night. She shoved the bad into the emotional pit her messiest, most dire remembrances lived, and covered them up with more immediate problems. Her poor attempt to forget failed.

The janks beating Lykas flashed through her mind; his screams, the midnight-dark stairs she rushed down to confront the enemy, her purple beams tearing through flesh, the blood . . .

All because a shadow threw that debris, caused the distraction.

“You can get to the House, get help—” Dagby began.

“NO!” The word blew from her lips, and she glared at the two men. “If Copper’s in trouble, we’re the nearest, the best chance.” Her voice quavered. Dammit.

“The guards lookin’ for him disappeared, too,” Dachs said, worried.

“All the more reason.” She squeezed Dagby’s hand, withdrew her arm, and took off.