If she had known the effect of her words, she would have kept her mouth shut.

Lapis understood the sympathy, but the overwhelming reaction to her emotional pain pricked an inner part of her that she desperately attempted to hide, because acknowledging it meant trudging through days drowning in sorrow and tears, and nights spent twisting in nightmares.

And the guilt. The punch of desperate pain in Faelan, Midir, Varr . . . she never should have hit them in that way. And how would Uncle Rodas take the story? He, ultimately, restrained her brother to prevent him from riding to Nicodem, and he must suffer remorse for leaving her, a twelve-year-old, in such peril.

And she doubted Lady Thyra enjoyed the reminder of that terrifying day.

“I’m walking through the crowd,” Midir said, resolute despite Varr’s deep frown. “We planned this, and I don’t think the few discontents will brave the wrath of others to make an attempt at me.”

“I’m sure they’ll ignore Mint and Tia,” Lapis muttered. Midir cast her a quick, amused grin as the two terrons rumbled agreement. The bulky lizards had weight and speed on their side, and bulldozing a threat or two would make more than an impression on those they squished.

“I think Jetta and I will take Iole and Phaeton to the Moondance,” Elysia said. The poor baby had been fussing since the crowd cheering woke him, and showed no signs of quieting after the unexpected shock. Getting him to a quieter place would help. “They’ll eat and we can get them settled before everyone else arrives.”

“Food!” Iole said brightly. “I’m staaarving!”

Midir hugged his daughter close. “Eat some heartier food before you get dessert. I’ll see you soon. Onward to the Moondance!”

A parade, then; Lapis planned to bring up the rear and, hopefully, work through the sludge of feelings before they reached the banquet. Crying into her soup was not how she wanted to end the day, and she needed a break from the heavy weight of regret and failure.

Perben still walked above ground, and she doubted her future success in sending him beneath it.

Patch wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her close; she buried herself in his embrace and fought to find a calming thought. He pressed his lips against her hair and kept them there as Maydie and Movique got everyone in line for the meet and greet.

They must have drank several jugs of wake juice, to still hum along. A wrung rag had more life than she, and she had not been there as long as the two Lells owners.

Faelan set his hand on her arm, and she looked at him. “I want to stay in the back.” The words popped out before she had the chance to quell them. He nodded, and she drew away from her partner to give him a hug.

“I’m sorry, Melanthe,” he whispered, strained, holding back sorrow as strong as hers.

“I’m the one who kept hidden,” she whispered back. “Remember? I caused so much pain, so much—”

“We know the reason. If Patch hadn’t thought him a threat, he would have told us you survived.”

“I don’t know how to make it up to everyone.”

“There’s nothing to make up.”

“There is.” She pulled back and met his subdued purple gaze. He bled inside, despite his attempts to hide it. “And I will. To you and the rebels I know, and Midir and Varr and Uncle Rodas—‍”

“Lanth—”

“You mourned for me. It wasn’t fair.”

“No, but little under Gall was fair.”

“And I made it even more so.”

“Faelan,” Varr called. Her brother squeezed her arms, tightened his wind-flayed tail, and trotted to Midir, who spoke to his extended escort. The khentauree and the terrons had not stood in honor behind him during his speech, but they would make their presence known now.

She looked at Jhor, whose relief swam around him like a school of fish, and then at the mechanical beings. “So what changed?”

Sanna hummed. “A play to emotion instead of strength,” she said. “With khentauree and terrons, it would be fear and uncertainty once humans saw us. But Ghost thought Krios should speak to the pain that you showed. The audience understood that pain. They have experienced it themselves. It became common ground for all to stand upon.”

She shook her head. “I messed up. Everyone was silent.”

“You did not mess up,” Ghost told her quietly. He set a hand on his chest. “You spoke from here. Your words were true, your anguish was wrenching. They reacted to your genuine suffering, and they recalled those they lost to the old crown and the old ways. You reminded them that agony lies in the past, and to avoid it in the future, they must step away from the heavily trodden path. It is a new way, a strange way, an unknown way, but the opportunity it promises is beyond what mire and puddles guarantee.”

The terrons and Cassa moved past, Mint and Tia squeezing between the stage and the adjacent building, and the alarmed shouts at their appearance made her sigh. The rest of those behind the curtain followed, and within moments, Patch snagged her hand, and they walked with the khentauree and Jhor at the rear of the procession.

She wanted to talk to Ghost more about his observations, but she did not have the chance. A myriad of people, most she did not know, descended on her despite their uneasy glances at the terrons and khentauree, and told her how sorry they were for her loss, sympathized with the terror, harped on the coffin far too long, and spoke about how they and their families suffered under Gall. She thanked them for sharing, reminded them she supported Uncle Kri because he would work towards peace and stability, something the previous ruler refused to contemplate, and moved to the next person who wanted to express their condolences.

She really had no idea how to handle the attention.

“The Lells merchants are still open for business!”

She hunched as the speaker unexpectedly blared; oh no, Maydie found the mic!

“And don’t forget the badge commemorating this special day! You can pick yours up for free at the Lells office. This sturdy keepsake is something you can show your grandchildren to prove you were here during this historic speech! Select merchants have today-only discounts available for those who have one, so don’t miss out!”

“They made special badges?” Lapis asked, uncertain whether to be impressed with their ingenuity or annoyed at the blatant advantage they took.

Patch laughed. “Let them have their fun,” he said. His grin widened, and he reached past her to accept a humongous jug of wake juice from the amused owner of Fished Out, who lifted it over several heads to get it into her partner’s hands. She glared at the man, but he only waved at her and, beaming, turned to wade through the throng.

“Still warm, too. Naf must like me.”

She tapped the huge ‘Fished Out’ logo on the side. “I’m sure he’s getting exactly what he wanted,” she grumbled.

“Just like Maydie,” Jhor said, amused.

“Those badges must have the Lells written on them, too.”

“They do.” Brone caught her step and held up his; it was a cloth patch that had the words ‘Together or Never as the Wolf’ stitched in gold thread across the top, and a yellow sun rising above two red mountaintops, a river between. ‘The Lells Market’ sat in splendor at the bottom. She took it to examine; the craftsmanship looked human rather than Dentherion-machined, and the stiffness spoke of good quality. Whoever had made them did an excellent job in creating a lasting keepsake. She turned it over; Midir’s stamped signature covered the back.

“That’s nicer than I would have thought.”

“Lyet said Lord Krios helped pay for them.”

Ah. She handed it back. “How are the rats?”

“We knew you’d worry, but we’re fine,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand. “We’re more worried about you, I think.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but you did just pour your soul out to thousands of strangers across Jilvayna.”

She winced at the description. “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m helping the buskers so I can’t stay long, but Lady?” His sober brown eyes drove her guilty side to the surface. “I think each of us saw ourselves in your words. It seems more personal, now, this new Jilvayna.” The edges of his mouth quirked up, and he patted her arm before squirming through the people waiting for a word with her.

More personal? If so, perhaps Midir might have an easier time getting the common folk involved in the future.