By the time they reached the Moondance, Lapis felt as if she had greeted every single person who showed up at the Lells to listen to Midir. She had heard so much pain from those Gall harmed, accompanied by assurances they had listened to Lord Krios and planned to help shape Jilvayna into a country where their children and grandchildren could proudly live without fear.

She had more interactions to look forward to, her thoughts swirling on how best to apologize and continue the rebuilding of relationships. Would they settle, once she had food as a distraction? If she didn’t fall, headfirst, into her meal because wake juice would not solve the weariness she experienced.

Had the entourage not headed inside, she never would have recognized the place. Not only had the builders repainted from rugged brown to a soft teal and added several windows, the front door, which had been a knobless portal opened from the interior, now spanned the width of the building, providing plenty of room for the terrons to walk through.

The short entry had shiny copper plaques behind display glass with the names of people who donated to the construction; at least a thousand, with most giving a minute amount for the greater good. She wished she had realized what Lord Adrastos had planned, and she would have chipped in what she could.

She finished the thought in time to see her and Patch’s name in the metgal category, etched atop a flowing river design. Since he no longer had a lackluster House to spend it on, why not donate money to the new government’s meeting place?

“You could have told me,” she murmured.

“I forgot,” Patch said, following her gaze. “Faelan told me about it during Fools and Ghouls, and I wrote a promissory note giving what would have been Baldur’s expenses to it, and then we got sent to Abastion.”

“Baldur’s expenses?” She snorted sourly. If she had realized the ex-headman had siphoned that much as a stipend for entertaining guests, she would have told Patch to let him drown in the underhanded dealings he expected the famous chaser to clean up. It would have been bad for the Jiy rebels, but any more so than him as leader?

She squeezed his waist, not wishing to dwell on more negative thoughts, and he kissed the side of her head. For him to express such softness in public, she must look needy indeed.

The bottom floor no longer had dimly lit, smoky tables hidden by numerous screens, a bar to the left, a stage to the right. While the rich wooden floorboards still retained their dark stain, the walls had a deep teal paint, and the columns sported carvings that reminded her of the Jils’ temple art below the Reeds. Had Adrastos consulted Darl? As a historian and a Jil dedicated to preserving their ancient history, he could have provided a plethora of accurate examples to work from.

The stage had moved to the back, a podium atop it, a teal curtain hiding the interior, and a matching cloth hanging from the edge to the floor. Two tapestries dangled at each side: one, a sky-blue, had two red mountains, a sun, and a dark blue river flowing to the bottom, represented Jiy, and the other held the Blue Wolf of the Collaborate on a white background, fourteen stars for the fourteen member rebellions above its howling head.

Tables, chairs and benches filled the remaining space, and far more than Lapis had anticipated. How many did Midir expect to feed? The double buffet counters to the left had no room for additional bowls and platters, but from the noise in the adjacent kitchen, more was being prepared.

The smells wafting from them reminded her of the Nightmarket—as they should, since the caterers manned stores there. Fried meats and fish and spice-infused vegetables did not quite hide the softer scent of fresh breads and sweet fruits, and all made her tongue want that food. Her tummy rumbled, insisting it had not been fed in so so so long and she needed to retrieve edibles immediately.

Faelan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dig in!” he called.

She did not wait for a second invitation.

Her plate became the melting pot for fruits and vegetables in butter sauces, fried rice with egg and mellow seasoning, potatoes split down the middle and filled with thin-sliced pork, cream and butter, and a thick steak topped with melted cheese and a rich gravy. Sad she ran out of room before she reached the breads, she set her meal on a table at the edge of the dining area, plopped her now too-warm coat on the back of her chair, and returned to fill a bowl with loaf slices, rolls, sweet butter, cream and jam.

The Candycakes vendors who recognized her urged her to take even more to salve her soul.

By the time she settled in her place, Patch’s jug sat next to her plate, the khentauree had clustered around the table, and the terrons sat to the side, consuming roasted sides of beef and a crate of vegetables she did not recognize. The stamp across the wooden boards had a terron head, so the heavy golden tubers and chunky, bumpy green gourds came from the Depths.

Jhor nodded at her, then tapped the top of his still-red steak swimming in pepper with his fork. “This is the best the Nightmarket has to offer,” he said. “And I saw Candycakes desserts by the drinks.”

Ooooh. She was going to eat until she got sick.

“You like sweets,” Ghost said.

“I do. It’s a good thing I can’t afford them often, or my tummy would hang to my toes.”

Apparently Cassa felt the same; only sweets sat on her plate as she made herself comfortable next to Jhor, childish delight emanating from her. Dammit, she wanted all those delights and more; she admitted she was going to gulp and guzzle herself into a drooling husk, and she could not find the capacity to care.

Patch clattered next to her with a grin. He had chosen the spiciest orange-stained fish, and he must have poured even more of the hot stuff on the rice, because it drowned in the potent sauce. Peppers ringed the center with a lonely roll. “Eat what you can before the rats arrive.”

“They do not get a meal like this often,” Sanna said, eyeing the food. “It is a kind, thoughtful thank-you, for it was cold outside.” She shuddered.

“Were you cold?” Lapis asked, concerned. Jhor shook his head.

“She complained the heat made the sponoil quicker than it should be,” he said. “So I need to modify the caparisons, maybe add a gauge that lets the khentauree manually adjust.”

“I found it comfortable,” Chiddle said, patting at his side. “If I needed to act, the cold would not have interfered.”

“I’m glad everything went smoothly and you didn’t have to,” Lapis said.

“No stage in Jilvayna had serious problems,” Ghost agreed. “It is not a surprise. Your heart became the road upon which the unknown Lord Krios provided hope to humans who were desperate for reassurance. You prepared them to listen, and I think, no matter where they stood, they did. Whether they become supporters, we shall see.”

She would not think on those difficulties yet.

She shoveled food faster than Patch, enjoying the warmth flowing down her throat. He retrieved hot wake juice with enough cream and sugar, she could not complain about the taste. That helped, and her tenseness melted along with the heat.

Helpers from other stages arrived, and when the rats did, everyone knew; the noise increased to faire levels. She expected it, but those associated with her reading circle shifted stride and headed for her, concern and distress riding them. She did not see the older teens, Scand or Path, and wondered what kept them at the Lells.

Gabby, dressed in a heavy but malleable coat and fluffy hat in Midir’s colors, a courier bag slung over her shoulder, threw herself into her arms. “Lady!” she sobbed. Lapis held her, sorrow slamming her; they had a connection before, as both had tragically lost their mothers, but the urchin now knew exactly how.

She scanned the sober faces and squeezed Gabby tight. “We all have ghosts,” she told them. “We all have sorrows that haunt us—and you rats know that better than most. Don’t worry about me. I have help quieting them.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jess, the leader of the Wings, said. She had her hands shoved into her pockets, tears behind her eyes. “Not all of us had family that cared, but those who did, they cried when you talked. You got thrown into the street just like us, only the bad guys were hunting you, too. That’s worse.”

“It’s all awful, Jess. We shouldn’t quantify which is worse.” She squeezed Gabby again and gently pushed her away. The rat rammed her mittened palms against her cheeks, struggling for control. “Look. Eat your fill, get as many sweets as you want, and celebrate the hope of a better future. We’ve a long road ahead of us, and that hope will buoy us through the difficulties. There’s a time to think about the past, but it’s not today.”

“It’s hard not to,” Gabby whispered.

“I know. But you know what helps? A hot meal with friends. Seriously. And Candycakes has a dessert spread, so you can drown in sugar. I know I’m going to.”

She rose and hugged each in turn, reassuring them as best she could, though she doubted it stuck. Hopefully the good cheer and wonderful food changed their outlook before the night ended. She shooed them to the food and hoped they piled the choicest items high.

“They’re not the only ones worried.”

She jumped, took a deep breath, and fought the urge to smack Dagby for scaring her. He half-laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. She had ignored the remark about him looking dangerous, but the severe tail, black leather jacket, and pants with knives strapped in conspicuous places, succeeded. She doubted the shanks who attended Granna Cup’s fireside event would have dared start anything, because it was obvious who would have ended it.

“Who else is?”

His smile was sad and small. “Granna Cup cried. I can’t tell you the last time she did that when it didn’t involve a baby’s birth. We heard the loss, so clear, so immediate, like it was yesterday and not years ago. She remembered her murdered daughter and Ahebban, and got weepy. She said she wanted to talk to you.” He hmphed. “Made Diz feel guilty about all the times he teased you, too.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “Will believe that when I see it,” she grumbled.

His gaze drifted to Cassa, and his warm smile turned to skepticism as he noted her plate. She raised an eyebrow and squinted at him; he wisely took himself away without a word about her choices.

“He’s gotten smarter,” Patch remarked as he scooped the flaming rice into his mouth.

Cassa’s preening smugness elicited laughter. Lapis glanced after the ex-chaser, feeling a tinge sorry for him, and caught Nerik’s eye.

The rat stood to the side of the growing line, uneasy, and she did not want him to flee before he ate. She threaded through the crowd and reached him before he made up his mind to leave. “Hey, Nerik, you good?”

He blinked at her, then nodded, tugging at the brim of his beret. He wore new clothes and a heavy coat, topped by his ratty hat. She needed to get him a new one. “There’s a lotta people here.”

“Yeah. And more are coming. But don’t let that discourage you; grab as much food as you want. There’s plenty.”

He nodded again, bit his lower lip, then snagged her hand and tugged her to the side, into a little cubby that once housed a small booth but now contained a modicum less noise. “Lady, I just want to say, I’m sorry,” he whispered. She heard the tears and covered his hand with her other one.

“Thank you. It means a lot, for you to say that.”

“I . . .” He sucked in an enormous breath, released it, and the tears fell from his over-red, brown eyes. “I know how you feel, ‘cause it happened to me, too.”

Her heart froze. “I’m so sorry, Nerik.”

“I was almost nine, but old enough to know what it meant when my uncle and aunt complained about my dad. He was their brother, and he’d made more with his business than they had, and they were really sour. They got into a huge argument, and uncle threw things. Dad told him not to come back. The next day, palace soldiers showed up and arrested my parents. I ran away, my older brother stayed. They all died.”

“Oh Nerik.” No wonder he viewed adults with cynical suspicion.

“Throne gave uncle and aunt the business and estate because they turned in rebel traitors. Everyone hated my parents after that, some even said they were happy they’d died, and they told me I deserved worse’n the streets. My granna tried to protect me, told them it was all a lie and they knew it, but the palace soldiers came back and I left before she got thrown into the Pit, too.” He swallowed. “You understand.” The words barely made it past his lips.

“Yes.” She smiled as watery heat trickled down her cheek. “And there’s more than one rebel who experienced a similar loss. It’s why we fought so hard against Gall, because we didn’t want another child to suffer as we did. I hate what happened to you and your family, and I wish I could change it.” She squeezed his hand tightly before relaxing. “We rebels have a little altar outside Jiy where those inclined remember their fallen loved ones. I can take you, we can honor your parents.”

He snuffled and eyed her in hopeful disbelief. “You’d do that? You didn’t know ‘m.”

“I don’t have to. Being your parents is enough.” She calmed, and her emotions fell to a steady, even hum. “What were their names? I can have a ritual paper printed that you can burn at the altar.”

“Oh! Um, Sanner and Bess. My last name’s Flock, ‘cause my dad raised a bunch of chickens.”

And she bet, Patch could discover who his uncle and aunt were, based on those names. Good. She would stake them, in Nerik and his parents’ names. “Nothing wrong with that. Sanner and Bess Flock. Do you have a color of paper you’d like?”

“Maybe violet? My mom liked violets.”

“Sounds good.” A shadow loomed over her, bringing cold with it, and she looked up. “When did you get so tall,” she grumbled at Rin.

“I’s not tall, you’s jest short.”

Searing his bottom into oblivion with a glare would have to wait, since his ruddy smirk held more sorrow than humor. Nerik whapped him for her, which she appreciated. He covered his tummy in fake affront as Jandra and Lykas shook their heads. Scand beamed at her, pricking her curiosity and concern.

“What happened?”

“I caught a spy!”

“A spy?” That sounded fantastical.

“From the estate of one Lord Diros Mayventhel,” Rin announced. Since the rats knew of his dirty dealings concerning Lady Thais and the khentauree, they understood the danger he posed.

“Not the Gods’ Hands, was it?”

“Nope!” Scand gloated. “Was a Beryl agent working for him!”

That terrified her. “Scand—”

“I immediately went and told the Minq,” he said, as if she should know that he would of course tell the Minq. “I stole a packet. Had a bunch of intel about the other Beryl there, so I had to give it to them!”

“Scand,” she groaned. That missed the point of telling the Minq before he got into trouble with discontents by stealing from them.

“That’s not the best part!” He jumped up and down, excited. “We found his buddies, and me, Lykas and Rin even took their underwear! Gave it all to Brander.” He cleared his throat and stroked his neck. “He had a fit for you, so you don’t have to talk to us about being careful.”

She eyed each of the unrepentant teens with a petulant snarl. When a pickpocket metaphorically stole a target’s underwear, they cleaned out every pocket within reach—and with a distraction, some that weren’t. It was good, that Brander made certain they knew the folly of their ways. Losing an apprentice to asinine decisions was not something she wanted to suffer. She squinted at Nerik. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

He pursed his lips as if to whistle, raised his eyebrows, and did not look at her.

Her sigh could not get more exasperated. “Go get some food before the line’s long enough everything’s cold,” she muttered. “And we’ll have appropriate apprentice response training when I have the time.”

“Aye, Lady,” Rin said with a cheeky grin.

“With Varr.”

Buoyed by the aghast stares, she patted Nerik’s hand and smiled in encouragement before heading back to her cold plate.

“What did you say?” Cassa asked, bright-eyed with curiosity, as she leaned forward. Dagby shook in silent laughter, and she could not help but notice he brought her chicken soup, something a bit more substantial than sugar. “They looked like they were going to their own funeral!”

“They caught a Beryl spy working for Diros, cleaned out his buddies, and I told them they needed some training time with Varr,” she said as she plunked down, a tad skittish internally for volunteering the bodyguard. Patch howled, and she poked him for his humorous approval before returning to her food.

Tia tapped her claws and signed; Cassa chuckled. “Tia said send them her and Mint’s way.”

“Ooooh, good idea,” Lapis said. “Actually, if you’re not too busy, would you mind doing a couple training sessions? It will be good for them, to get the perspective of terrons.”

The two looked at each other, then nodded. Mint signed.

“He said that’s a fantastic idea,” Cassa said. “They can give them some terron history, too. The older ones lived through the fall of the Taangin Empire, after all.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “They can learn a lot from history, and you’re primary sources not from the owner class. Just don’t get into bathrooms. Gabby will run with that all day, if she can.” She regarded Chiddle. “Would you mind speaking with them, too? Khentauree history is just as important, and since you use a spear, you can teach them a combat form others might not expect and have fewer ways to counter.”

She ignored the twinge in her chest, that she could not ask the same of Tuft.

“I have never taught anyone anything,” Chiddle said. Mint rumbled and signed. “I am not afraid of the rats. BUT,” and he held up a finger, “I have never taught anyone anything.”

“It is never too late to learn,” Ghost said, no sympathy whatsoever in his tone. Chiddle’s head swiveled to him, but if they argued, they kept it silent.

Cold drifted over the table, accompanied by Path and Lyet. The teen slid from the khentauree’s back, and Lapis frowned; her mussed hair and bloodshot eyes meant something happened.

She skirted the table and leaned over, hugging her about the shoulders. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered before scampering to the food.

“Path?” Lapis asked, annoyed and sharp.

“Lyet said she will speak later,” the khentauree said, and she would not break that confidence, considering the firmness in the statement.

A deep drumroll filled the air. On stage stood buskers from the Lells and the Nightmarket, dressed in their brightest holiday finest, holding flutes and lutes, harps and horns, bells and violins and other instruments. Brone knelt on a blanket with his gourd drums, accompanied by others with various types of percussions.

The roll continued, and the musicians joined in, one by one. The song, ancient in origin, was a staple at the planting celebrations held in Early Year Three and Four. Lapis had attended several as a child, but only passed by, rather than enjoyed, the festivals once she arrived in Jiy. Ghost cocked his head, Chiddle tapped his arm with his fingers, and Sanna and Path hummed the melody together.

They sounded as if they often performed the song, and their voices blended perfectly.

“Iwrata trivi,” Sanna said. “That is an old Jils song. Miners would sing it when overseers were away, to remind them of better times.”

The musicians chose the old words, and Sanna and Path sang with them; not a surprise, their pronunciation differed, sounding more ancient and authentic. Brone nudged his neighbor, and they nodded; he motioned to the khentauree to join them. Jhor tapped their arms and pointed to the stage. They observed Brone’s animated summoning and trotted to the platform.

The rat met them at the top of the stairs and said something, and the humans gave way for the khentauree to sing the ancient song with graceful hand motions and swaying. Was that the original dance? The moves had a certain air about them, as if the two drew their significance through time and presented them with passion.

A song of love and loss, of nature healing scars, and the promise of the bloodsworn kin to uphold the peace that the trees and grasses, rivers and streams, mountains and valleys, instilled. Lapis knew the modern words, but the ancient ones added a somber yet reassuring tone the current incarnation lacked.

Sanna had a beautiful, poetic voice, Path a higher, dusky one that matched the mood perfectly. Her spirits rose with the notes.

“They are changed,” Ghost said with approval. Chiddle nodded in confirmation; she glanced at Jhor, who frowned at them. What did they mean by that?

The song ended, and cheers erupted before the crowd began a modern rendition. Sanna and Path sang that too, and to her eye, both looked ecstatic. Ghost and Chiddle joined; the rest of them hummed along with the terrons.

To each their own, different yet united in one song, one voice.