The cold bit, and Lapis felt its teeth through her coat and hood. She winced as fog rose from the small gaps between the knitted edge of the scarf and her nose and cheeks, momentarily blocking sight.

Not that she had much to see. Only a scattering of the Lells sellers who manned outdoor stalls sold anything that morning, and not a rat strolled through the squares. No tourists, either, just locals needing supplies, which was why she neglected to ask for company on her errands; why bring Lyet out on such a miserable day?

She hated when cold infused her hands, making them ache, and any exposed skin felt as stiff as a statue's in the numbing chill. Before her brother returned to her life, she worked on these days, because shanks, unwilling to freeze in inadequate outerwear, wisely stayed home. She could knock on their front door rather than chase them through the Stone Streets and hope they didn’t find a convenient abandoned building to hide in.

She pressed her hand against her inner left breast pocket, checking that the bag of silver still rested there. Paranoia about losing the last of her pay from the alchemist drove her, but no one out that day had the ability to reach inside her coat and snag it. She did not think even Brander had the talent, and his master thief status was absolute.

She wandered through the squares, waving at the few braving the weather to make some bits—food sellers, mostly—but she had another destination in mind. Shawe’s smithy was not a Lells attraction, but it sat close enough, when customers browsed through the wares at the market, they would make a side trip to his storefront. Tools, utensils and silverware made up the majority of his sales, but he also created jewelry—and, as a rebel, she got a discount.

A group dressed in black coats moved by, eyeing the sellers they passed with lifted-lip snarls. The sellers ignored them until they passed, then cast nervous looks at their backs. Would the Dentherion janks cause trouble on so miserable a day? Why even patrol the streets, when most citizens wallowed in the warmth found indoors? Braving the wretched weather would not help them find their colleagues.

“Don’t stare too much,” a merchant advised. The woman, whose oven kept her stall and the area near it toasty, placed warm biscuits into two bags for customers, then looked at her. “You do, they ask you why.”

Of course the janks preferred bully methods to actual information gathering. “If they don’t want to attract attention, maybe they shouldn’t dress like Dentherion janks,” she said.

All three laughed at that.

“I heard they’s still lookin’ fer any info on the disappearance of their buddies,” the first customer said, shaking his head. “Probably stuck their noses in a syndicate’s business n’ paid fer it.”

The merchant and the other customer murmured assent.

“The rats have mentioned them harassing the Lells.” Lapis hmphed. “If they haven’t found their friends by now, they probably fed the carrion lizards days ago. Lost cause.” A tiny ray of hope peered through her mental darkness; they, as of yet, did not know what happened at the theater, so that was good news for her and Lykas.

The merchant folded one of the bags and handed it to the man. “They’re askin’ questions about some tourists from Dentheria, too. Some family went missin’ at the same time? I told them to check the Night Market; most of the Dentherions are there, spendin’ what few bits they still have on home-style food. I don’t know why they think we’d know.”

“Grey Streets have a reputation,” Lapis said. The three laughed at her joke, though she found it sardonic, rather than amusing.

The second customer motioned to her, and she stepped closer as the merchant and the man leaned in to hear her. “My niece was headin’ to work two mornin’s ago. She passes that old theater overlookin’ the Shells ‘cause less wagon traffic goes that way. She said Denthie’s were crawlin’ all over that place.”

Lapis’s heart pittered faster and her stomach dropped in distress. What if the person Scand saw was still around? What if they told insistent janks about her taking out their colleagues?

“She knew ‘twas them; hard to miss, them all in black. That night, after they thought all’d be home, they went door-knockin’ at the nearest residences, askin’ about their friends and that family. And guess what they said? They went missin’ at the same time! That family, they’s important back in Dentheria, too. Has to be some syndicate thing.” She leaned closer. “My niece says lights come on in the theater at odd times of night, and anyone who goes near gets chills, no matter how warm it is. Bet it’s a syndicate, scarin’ us poor Grey and Stone Streets residents so as we don’t investigate their dealin’s. Also bet that family was payin’ t’ get outta Dentheria, and they’s long gone t’ safer parts.”

The man shuddered. “Think it’s a ghost,” he declared. “Odd things happened, when they were tryin’ t’ set it up like Underville. M’ brother, he’d visit friends, said no one’d want t’ live alone in the place. Fires goin’ all times of day ‘n night, lamps always lit—and dark niches still had shadows. People’d take friends t’ the waste pit, didn’t wanna close them doors, ‘cause you’d never know what’d happen t’ you when no one’d be there t’ see.”

“Ghost or syndicate, it’s a place to avoid,” Lapis said, hoping her voice did not quaver as much as her tummy. The thought of a ghost popping into a stall while she had bared her bottom to the world frightened her more than the Dentherions tracking her down. Foolish, but true. “I’ve chased enough shanks into it to know. There’s too many hiding places they can use, and getting stabbed by a desperate criminal isn’t fun.”

All three winced at that.

“You take care of yourself, Lanth,” the merchant cautioned. “A few bits aren’t worth your life.”

“Yeah. It’s better to wait and catch them on another day.” She tipped her head. “You all take care, too, with janks stalking the Lells and people disappearing. I don’t want to take a stake to find out what happened to you.”

They solemnly waved her on, and she hastened her step, tingles racing up and down her back. She wanted to forget the theater existed, she wanted to forget that night, but scrubbing memories were not as simple as washing blood from her skin.

She headed for Shawe’s, following the main, iced trail that led through the Lells, boots crunching snow against the paving stones. Water filled her lashes, and she bowed her head, tugging her hood low so no one would ask questions. She refused to share, how her previous difficulties with darkness had grown into encumbering fear, and she never wanted to enter a deep, dark anywhere again.

Shawe’s smithy was muggy with heat, making the attached shop warm enough that several people perused the sales, not to buy, but to get warm. The brick construction made standing inside during the hottest days a Pitish experience, but a welcomed relief during the coldest. She rubbed at her eyes, hoping others took their redness as cold-induced, and threaded through the customers, the merchandise tables, and to the jewelry displays. Hopefully he still had cheaper items that, combined with her rebel discount, came close to what she wanted.

“Hey, Lanth!”

She looked up and smiled as the smith inched around the cases, running a hand through his shoulder-length, greying brown hair. Despite his years, he still sported a roguish open-collar, tight pants style that showed off the muscles he forged striking metal. She appreciated the look, not only for the strength he highlighted, but for the contrast of light fabric against his bronze skin; he caught everyone’s eye when he left the forge, and he delighted in it. “Hi Shawe.”

“What can this ol’ smithy help you with?”

She grinned. “Gifts, actually. From me to special others.”

He nodded, relaxing, deep brown eyes twinkling, his already-red, chiseled cheeks turning darker in humor. “Now’s the time to buy. Most of what I have is on sale, as the Dentherions who usually snap it up are a little short on funds.”

“Aren’t we all,” she murmured. “I’m looking for two chains; a silver one for the wrist, a black one for the neck.”

“I think I have something you’ll like,” he said, motioning her to the far end.

She dutifully followed, and the others who scanned the jewelry but did not intend to buy moved out of the way. Shawe took out a pillow with several chains on it, set it down on top of the display’s glass, and she leaned over to look at the spread. Large chains, small chains, delicate ones with bangles sat in neat rows, many of which would fit her brothers.

“I’m glad one of you showed up,” Shawe whispered. His voice was but a puff of air against her ear. “The last two days, the janks have asked after Grey Streets chasers. Cornered as many of them as they could, asking questions about the theater overlooking the Shells. Patch’s name came up, and some druggie shank at the cross grates gave you up as his lover. They’re searching for you both.”

She did not envy the snitch, when Patch discovered which of them spoke.

“This is going to sound odd, but I think they think Patch took out their missing buddies. Something to do with blond hair.”

“Did anyone tell you what happened?”

“No.” He straightened and raised his voice. “Come in back. We’ve other sizes.”

Lapis trailed him through the open doorway into the back hall; the apprentice selling things glanced at them before returning to stare at the crowd from his stool, elbows on knees, chin in palms, eyes half-closed. Not a lot of excitement in watching people bathe in warmth, but it was better than freezing in the streets.

Shawe led her to the inner display room where he kept the more expensive and interesting jewelry. Chains, hoops, rings, earrings, brooches, cameos, jewels covered the walls and tables, sparkling and shining in the lamplight. Against the black velvet padding, they looked like a myriad of stars dazzling a night sky.

If the smith gave her enough of a discount, she would not have to stop at the Lells or the Night Market. She could get everything she needed there.

He closed the door, locked it, and motioned for her to peruse. She smiled and headed for the colorful chains dangling from a stand; did Dentherions like them so much, he sold them in rainbow hues? He joined her at the black linen-swathed table, amused at her enthusiasm.

“So what happened?” he asked.

She ran her fingers over the silver bracelets. “So the janks grabbed one of my reading circle rats. They wanted him to show them where some runaway Dentherion noble family was.”

Shawe raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “And how was he supposed to know that?”

She gave him as sarcastic a look as she could. He shook his head and sucked in a humongous breath.

“Hope they end up in the Pit,” he grumbled.

“They did.”

“I take it the rebels had a fun night.”

“And the Minq.” She sighed as she selected a silver chain and held it up; it should fit around Rin’s wrist. “Since Lykas has blond hair, I’m betting that’s where the confusion lies.” She handed it to Shawe before checking out the darker-hued necklaces. “The night the janks disappeared, three of their buddies visited the Eaves and we had a not-nice chat. If the janks asked around about me, that might have added to their misunderstanding, since I’m Patch’s partner.”

“They’ve been here a few times, asking intrusive questions. I think they realize their buddies fed the carrion lizards, and they’re eager to know who threw them over the bridge. Knowing Patch is a chaser, maybe a hunter, has got them interested in him. They’ve inquired about that noble family, too, but all they get is blank stares when they do. That infuriates them. Like Jilvayna citizens care about a Denthie family.”

“I don’t think the new high councilor is as nice as the previous one. They’re probably thinking they’ll get a nice trip to the Pit themselves if they fail him.”

“Good bet, from what I’ve heard from tourists.” He chuckled as she selected a chain long enough to fit Faelan’s neck, made from thin links as black as his hair, with a shimmer as purple as his eyes. It weighed more than the others, but the style fit him better. “That’s braxio. It’s a nice metal for jewelry. It comes from the deepest, darkest forests of Zouldan.”

That sounded fantastical, like it belonged in a mythic tale. “It’s perfect.” She handed the necklace to him, then paused. To the side of the chains were bangles, and on top of the pile was a mouse—not a rat, but close enough. She snatched it and added it to Shawe’s palm; his laughter meant he knew the bracelet was for a rat. She headed for the jewels as he set her selections next to a pad of paper and shimmery gift boxes normally used for holiday presents.

“How’s Scand?” he asked. “He visited a couple of times after he brought the kids here, but I haven’t seen him since the snows.”

She paused, took a cleansing breath, and pursed her lips at him. “He hitched a ride to one of my missions.”

She disliked the loud, hard laughter. He wiped his eyes as she turned back to the jewels, grumbling to herself. Of course he would see that as amusing, and not foolish.

“I see.”

“So he’s been busy.”

“Is he going to join?”

She did not answer, her annoyance drifting into soft regret. “I don’t want any of the rats to join,” she said as she studied the rainbow of gems on display. “I want them to have a chance at a stable life outside the streets, to start businesses or hire on as someone who could read.” She waved at him. “Or become an apprentice. I want them to do something that won’t end with them in the Pit before they turn twenty. The Grey and Stone Streets have too much of that already.”

His jollity dwindled. “I think you’ve accomplished more of that than you think,” he said, folding his arms and leaning against the table. “I know a few of the Lells rats. Jandra has interesting bead designs she sells, and when Drow and Maci find unique stones, they bring them to me. I pay well for those, especially if they have fossils. Dentherions love a shined fossil. You’re the reason they’re even doing that. The potters? Your support is invaluable. And I think one of the players is part of your reading circle. Their ambitions wouldn’t be possible without you.”

Without her? Phialla and Ness lacked the funds for pottery supplies, that was true. They had finally reached a point they could buy clay and paint, pitch in to fire the merchandise, but they would not have accomplished it at their age without the wheel and a safe place to work. Half of that was Dachs’s generosity, not hers. And Brone? He established his drumming space before she arrived in Jiy. He had the drive and talent at ten to perform, and after he inherited his drums, he moved to the capital and set up in the Lells. Unlike the other street rats, he had a family in Vraindem, and he sent most of his take to his parents, who had several other children to care for.

Brone had never needed her.

She tried to step away from the depressing trail her thoughts took, but found herself confined to the middle, her feet refusing to move.

“I heard you had quite the crowd, when you did your introductory chaser training.”

The random comment knocked her out of her darker thoughts. “I did. Rats, apparently, enjoy the hint of adventure without stepping far from the Grey Streets.”

“What did you do?”

“I told them to write down what everyone in the yard was wearing when they showed up for the training. Half the people had left, so it was an interesting memory exercise.”

“I think rebel thought has wormed into your methods more than you’ll admit.”

“If it’s there, my father implanted it when I was young.” The likes of Baldur had certainly not.

“I met Alaric once.” Shawe’s voice took on a distant, soft quality. “He could make the most down-hearted rebel see hope again with a few words. I’d just had a bad mission, lost half the team, and instead of screaming at us like my House Leader did, he listened to what we said, realized the Dentherions were using a new weapon against us, and made plans for future raids based off the info. My Leader responded with more fury, because his anger was more important to him than our report. Alaric demoted him, and his second took over. My team, instead of being kicked out of the rebellion, came away mourning but hopeful our friends’ deaths could make a difference and save another’s life. Faelan has the same knack.”

“That’s why Patch calls him a visionary.” She picked up a braxio hoop necklace with three midnight blue, shining skystones embedded in front, and a diamond-shaped etching ran across the rest.

“For Patch?”

She nodded. Of course he guessed; his influence convinced Patch to join the rebellion, and they had remained friends over the ensuing years. He knew her partner as well as she did.

“I have matching earrings.”

“Take ‘m.”

He grinned and sauntered to the earring display. She joined him as he took the pair from the velvet cloth; Patch had not worn earrings for a couple years, but he liked thick hoops, and these fit his personality perfectly. She accepted them, smoothing the metal, pleased to find something special for her partner so quickly. She handed them and the necklace to Shawe, then glanced back at the winking items—and paused.

“What are these made from?” she asked, touching transparent, shimmery hoops lying among an array of holiday-bright ones.

“There’s a material called frost. It’s malleable when heated, and bendy when cool. The stuff fascinates one of my apprentices, and he makes jewelry from it. It sells well.”

“I see why.” She picked them up. “I don’t suppose they’re on sale?”

“They are for a colleague.”

“Thanks for spoiling me.”

“It’s a pleasure.” He added the four of the frosty earrings to the pile, selected nice boxes for the items, and scribbled the total on a small sheet of bleached paper. She withdrew her purse as he slid it to her. The number astounded her; when he said sale, he had not lied. Happiness paraded through her as she counted out the silver, pleased that her gifts would not take as much money as she expected, especially the impromptu one for a certain special khentauree.

She had enough left over that if a rat had an emergency, she could cover the cost rather than ask Falean for help.

A vigorous knock at the door made her jump. Frowning, Shawe opened it and a harsh whisper came from the hallway.

“Master Shawe, the janks are back. They’re giving Heldin a bad time.”

“Are they asking the same questions?” the smith asked, annoyance replacing his humor.

“Pretty much, but they’re asking more about Lady Lanth. I think they came in just to drive everyone away into the cold.”

“I’ll be right up,” he grumbled. He snagged a rough fabric bag from a pile next to the paper stack and tossed it to her. “Take the back door,” he advised, jerking his head towards the workrooms. She nodded, untied the drawstring, scooped up the boxes, dumped them inside the bag, and hustled out of the room.

“Be careful,” she murmured before she whisked down the hall and into the smoldering brick rooms that held the forges and the work areas. The apprentices paused their tasks to look at her; the older ones continued without comment while the younger prodded them to answer questions about the stranger rushing through their space.

She glanced over her shoulder, but Shawe had already returned to the front. Before he started his smithy, he had taken dangerous missions in Dentheria for the Jilvaynan rebels. During those excursions, he developed a deep and biting hatred for the empire, and rarely kept his opinions to himself. Hopefully he did not hit them hard enough to land them, unconscious, in a clinic bed. Jilvanya was not Dentheria; advanced medical equipment belonged to doctors who followed the Meint religion, and they would not give up their hidey-holes to help a Dentherion agent in need.

That could go very poorly for the smith.

She reached the dinged, scraped back door, turned the knob, and pushed. Nothing happened. Digging her shoulder into it, panting from exertion, she forced the portal open. She bet no one stole from Shawe because they could not manage the door.

Janks ringed the stoop, hands shoved into pockets, heads bent against the icy wind zipping down the street. They argued about something, but every gaze snapped to her as she entered the frozen air. Two stepped to block her way down the stairs, while the others reached into their coats. For weapons?

Using up her luck buying jewelry when she needed it more to stay alive seemed a bit unfair.

“Why, hello there,” she said, desperate to snag her Lady Lanth aplomb, forget the devastation of past encounters, and focus on staying alive. “The entrance is on the other street—”

“And you are?” one snapped.

“Melanthe.” She should have come up with another name, but she was far more worried about the janks pulling weapons. Her small knife did not have the reach of her gauntlets; she should have buried her misgivings and wore them anyway. She knew what they could do to the janks, and she would much rather be alive to regret causing another death than dead weight thrown over the bridge and into the Pit.

“Melanthe?” another sneered. “And why are you coming out the wrong way?” He flung his hand at the door.

“I’m not,” she said, pretending to surprise. “I know the smith, and he suggested I come out this way to avoid the crowd in front.”

“Crowd in front? There isn’t a crowd anywhere buying stuff in this cold.” the first said, his mouth pulling down into a petulant frown as he squinted at her.

“They’re not here to buy anything. They’re here for the heat. Sure, they look at the things for sale, but Master Shawe lets people who need a place to get warm stay inside for a while. It’s a wonderful kindness on freezing days.”

“You don’t look like you need the heat. Why are you here?”

If they tried to take her purchases, she would scream loud enough to cave in the roof—and she would grin when Shawe knocked sense into them. “I was buying gifts for my brothers. Shawe’s jewelry is on sale right now, and—”

“Let’s see it,” the man said, jerking his chin at her.

Suspicion coursed through her, and she clutched the bag to her chest. What sane person allowed strangers to sift through their shopping?

The second man laughed, a hollow sound filled with disgust. “We’re not going to take it. Nothing in there worth buying.”

She glared so he knew she disliked the nasty insinuation, pulled the strings, opened it, and reached in for a box. She took off the top, revealing the silver bracelet she purchased for Rin. The Dentherions blinked at the box and chain as if they had never seen such things, then at one another.

The second shoved this breath through his teeth in revulsion, fogging the air in front of his face.

The first looked like he wished to smack the back of the cruel one’s head, then motioned for her to put the chain away. They did not want to see the rest of her take? How odd. “Do you know any female chasers in Jiy?” he asked.

Quite the jump in topic, was it not? “Um, I’ve heard of some. Women don’t usually become chasers, so when they do, people talk about them. There’s Danaea—”

“She’s dead,” the second snapped.

“Oh. Um, I’m sorry.” Hopefully uncertainty showed through, rather than annoyance. A typical Grey Streets merchant-family daughter would not know about such miserable dealings in the poorer, shadier parts of the city.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” the first said, plastering a glare at his buddy. “Who else.”

“Well, I’ve heard of Callara. She takes stakes from the waterfront businesses in Songbird and the Kells, and then there’s Ossie, but I think she only works for the Valehouse merchants. Or did. I read the news about her because she captured a notorious underboss last year! They say she made enough off his stake to retire. And Lady Lanth—”

“Her,” the first barked. She jerked back at the abrupt, harsh word. “What do you know about her? Lady Lanth?”

“That she teaches street rats to read. She must do pretty well for herself, to buy books to do that.”

The Dentherions waited, then glanced at each other when she did not continue.

“That’s all?” the first asked.

“Well, yes. I’ve never met her. I just know that people in the Grey Streets think she’s sweet, helping the less fortunate like that.”

The door banged open; all eyes riveted to a furious Shawe, and two of the men drew their weapons from their coats. She raised her hands, sighing in exasperation. Hopefully his playacting was as good as when he conducted missions; Patch said he even made the most suspicious believe what he had to say.

“I know what you’re going to say. ‘Melanthe, why haven’t you gotten to the market yet and told your brothers I need to hire them—’”

His sharp anger wafted from him like heat from his forge. “What are you doing, bothering my customers?” he asked, stepping free of the door, his fists trembling. Had he heard her? It would look bad, if he called her a name other than ‘Melanthe’.

The second jank puffed up like an adder. As much as she wanted Shawe to bash heads, they needed calm to avoid a shootout. “They’re asking after some chaser,” she told him, as gently as she could. “I’ve never met one, so . . .” She shrugged. “I’ll be off, then.”

His attention did not leave the Dentherions. “The sooner they show up, the better,” he said. “We haven’t sold what we usually do by this point in the year, and the excess is taking up space I need for holiday inventory. It needs to go to storage today.”

“I’ll send them your way as soon as they’re free.” She looked at the Dentherions, all of whom shifted and waited for their leader to speak. “Master Shawe, take care.” She waved before hoping off the porch and into a snowbank; she refused to worm around the janks if she did not have to. The second laughed, which became a howl at her shudder. Good thing wasn’t in charge. His cruel mockery boded ill for any who crossed him.

“You too, Melanthe.”

She tamped down on the pounding urge to run. That would alert the enemy something was amiss, and she needed to get to the Eaves and take the secret passage to the House without them realizing her intent. Even if rebel aid arrived after the Dentherions left, they could still speak with Shawe about their questions.

Freezing wind whipped past her, and she shoved her scarf over her nose, her hands under her arms, and trotted to the street corner; that made sense, considering the weather. She thought she heard the distant crunch of footsteps in snow accompanied by a shout, and prickles raced through her. They followed her.

Forcing herself not to turn and check, she rounded the building and took off. She nipped into the tiny alley between the third and fourth structure, raced to the small alcove just off the center, and clambered up the ladder leading to the roof. She had chased too many shanks on this underground route to not have it memorized. Fleeing across the roof brought memories, but past successes did not mean she would escape her current one victorious.

She jumped the gaps between the next three roofs, happy she did not slip off into a snowbank, slid down a pipe that ended to the side of a back door, and peeked into the cross street; only normal citizens hustled to their destinations. No janks. She streaked across and into a side street, then kept to the alleyways, trusting that the Dentherions had no clue about the sneakier paths around the Grey Streets.

Damn them, for turning a shopping trip into a chase. Worry for Shawe and his apprentices clogged her thoughts, and she ran to the Eaves as fast as the icy ground let her.