End Year 1:39 began with an over-hot, muggy morning, and ripened into an uncomfortable midafternoon swelter. Perspiration raced down Lapis’s cheeks; she wiped the stuff away and grumbled about the heat as she spread the paint and brushes out on the table her brother helped her unfold moments before. Hopefully the rats did not sweat the paint off before they could tour the Lells for treats.
Faelan settled the large mirror in the middle, then squinted at the label on one bottle. “Where do you get the paint?”
“The Meint,” she admitted. “They give it to sick children to play with, so I know it doesn’t harm the kids.” The Grey and Stone Streets had their share of painters who wheezed away their elder years and needed special medicine—if they could afford it—that helped soothe the flaky skin on their hands and faces.
Patch plunked a large jug of water on the dirt next to the table, then set his even larger wake juice container on top of the crate containing treats for the rats. The rebels had purchased the goodies, and the soft, wrapped candies in multiple fruit flavors should brighten even the glummest kid.
Caitria whooshed her breath through her teeth and scrubbed at her brow; she and Mairin placed the finishing touches on the adjacent, yellow-draped table that held dozens of cookies for eager children to consume. Fat candles with carved eyes and chubby, colorful paper leaves decorated the top, while triangular flags with nightwing drawings hung from the tarp.
Normally, Lapis staked a small niche where she painted faces, but Faelan asked Maydie and Movique for a larger area this Fools and Ghouls. Thrilled with his charm, and more thrilled with the bribe for the inconvenience, they provided a large section of wall within bonfire sight where the rebels erected covered sitting for the dignitaries planning to attend.
As they pocketed the silver, they oohed and aahed about providing a nice spot for Midir and Armarandos, and bounced about at the prospect of the heir to the Jilvayna throne attending their event. Krios, she sternly told herself. Using his rebel name with them would only cause confusion. She off-handedly referred to him as Uncle Kri, which made Faelan chuckle and caused the two to realize she had a more intimate relationship with the man and his family than they ever suspected.
Which sent them into a tizzy. She did not think Maydie’s harried daughter could rein them in and get them to concentrate on the myriad of minor difficulties popping up by having that many outside merchants in the Lells.
“Is it always this hot?” Caitria asked, flumping down on the bench behind her and sticking out her tongue as if exhausted.
“Depends on the year,” Lapis said. “Two years ago, we already had snow.”
“I don’t think snow is on nature’s mind,” Mairin said, smacking her hands together before stretching. “This would be a slog, navigating adverse weather.”
Rats tore through the boisterous crowd and headed to her. Scand, his freshly scrubbed cheeks merry, dangled two bulging purses in front of her nose. “Brone’s overflowing, and Phialla and Ness are making silver,” he intimated. “There are so many people here! We’re heading to the Eaves.” He cupped the side of his mouth in his hand. “Rin’s been handing out the gift from Faelan. There shouldn’t be any lifting tonight from rats.”
Good. While she did not underestimate the greed of rats, the Lells owners pulled them aside early that morning and made clear they would drag any thievery suspect to the magisters because they did not want their customers inconvenienced that night. They rarely issued such declarations, and it made an impression on the urchins. Hopefully providing a few bits, more than a typical haul, would help them keep their fingers to themselves.
Hearing subdued laughter, Lapis glanced at the rats collectively known as the Wings helping Midir’s daughter, Iole, dip thin paper flowers into bowls of water tinted yellow, orange and red. They planned to tack them to all surfaces of the area, making a lively space for others to enjoy. The seven-year-old had the idea, and Faelan brought her along to implement it; with his help, she purchased white paper, watercolor and water, the bowls, and the slatted drying rack. The Wings delighted in the art, and their presence and enthusiasm put the younger girl at ease.
Patch flumped onto a bench and planted his feet on the one in front of him, leaned against the building’s wall, and took a huge swig. Iole studied him suspiciously.
“Are you going to drink all that?”
He glanced at her. “Yep.”
“That’s like how much wake juice Uncle Carnival drinks.”
He grinned. “Yep.”
“Do you get as silly as Uncle Carnival?”
“Nope.”
Iole thought about that as she dipped more flowers into the colorful water.
Lapis laid absorbent cloths next to the paint and studied the setup. Ready as she ever was to decorate rats’ faces so they could get treats.
She wandered to Patch and snuggled into his side, wanting a nice hug; he kissed the top of her head and relaxed. How many more questions had followed him during his visit to Fished Out for wake juice? Speculation about the night’s events followed them that day, and answering the same questions from suspicious, non-Grey or Stone Streets merchants annoyed him. Businesses from western Jiy and Blossom had acquired space and set up a stall or booth or blanket, some selling items, some giving away treats, all planning to join in the commemoration for those killed in Ruddy’s raid as well as to inquire about the proposed community centers. And when those outsiders nosed about the Lells’ merchants for more information on this surprise being whispered about, those sellers pointed them in her and her partner’s direction.
They should have sent them to Maydie and Movique. The two did an excellent job piquing interest, blurting out just enough to strike the curious dead in the chest, but not revealing anything important.
“I’m surprised at the turnout,” Patch murmured, settling his cheek on her hair. “I’ve even seen nobles meandering about, looking lost.”
“Nobles?”
“Not just tourists, but outcasts from the Grey Streets mansions. There was one at Fished Out, and she was as stiff as her jacket lace. She didn’t pull back from the people, but she was obviously uncomfortable being in the crowd.”
Hopefully none of them made a scene. Avoiding supercilious aristocrat smarting from whatever offense relegated them to a Grey Streets crumbling mansion never counted as fun.
Whitley huffed up, dragging a wagon filled with cushions and blankets behind him. The teen wobbled between missing his father on his first holiday without him, and excitement that he would meet the wondrous beings Rin spoke about. He wanted to keep busy to direct his anxious sadness, so Faelan had him running errands.
And the most important one was to retrieve padding for the terrons and cushions and blankets for the dignitaries. No use having the Minq’s terrboss shivering as the night wore on. Lapis had difficulty picturing an older, staid syndicate boss succumbing to something as benign as shivering, but Shara and Faelan had exchanged knowing looks over the suggestion.
“There are so many people here,” he said with a grin. “I haven’t seen a Fools and Ghouls this crowded.”
“Maydie and Movique went all-out on this one,” Lapis said.
He held up a yellow stained wooden token with a theater mask carved in the center, the event and date listed around the edge, and a thin ribbon to place it about one’s neck. “Yeah, they did. The nicer tokens are even selling, which really surprises me. They’re expensive. Have you seen the Night Market’s stall?”
She shook her head, but Patch nodded.
“They set up a food tasting event with treats from all over Theyndora, and people can try them all for free,” her partner said.
“Sounds tasty!”
“They set aside extra for the rats.” Whitley held up his index and thumb, stretching them apart. “They have cakes this big stuffed with berry filling and nuts. They say they’re from Abastion.”
Caitria laughed. “I need to check that out,” she said. “Cakes with berry and nuts are a traditional harvest dessert, usually eaten when the last kernel of grain is taken in. We have competitions in rural communities to see who can bake the most interesting but still tasty variation.”
“Ah, I see all’s in order!”
Lord Adrastos studied the benches and tables, rubbing his hands and nodding to himself, while Captain Ryalla examined the crowd with a soft smile. “Spoke to Maydie and Movique. They know we’ll be around here, and to send people our way.” He glanced about, then hmphed and did a thorough observation of the nearest people. “They’ve been snagging Mandi,” he said. “Same questions, same fear. Not certain he can soothe them until the centers have been open for a few more days and people see they work just fine.” He waved his hand. “The center leaders, like Fyor, are going to wander the crowds, so everyone should have a chance to inquire about what’s going on.” He wormed his mouth to the side. “We need to come up with a title for them. Director, maybe?”
“I thought Jo Ban and Shara were with you,” Faelan said.
“They are,” Lord Adrastos grouchily admitted, though his frown had a tinge of humor to it. “But some booth has andalante chips and salt fish from Ramira, and they couldn’t pass it up.”
Lapis smiled as Shara slipped up, holding two woven, fish-smelly baskets with brown, greasy paper pouring over the edges. “If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it.”
He snagged the food so fast, she buried her head in Patch’s shoulder to keep her snickers quiet.
A warm chuckle filled the air. The man who held another basket was tall and thin, older than Lord Adrastos but looked as spry. He had white hair, a precisely trimmed white mustache and goatee, wrinkled brown eyes and sunken cheeks. He wore a green silk tunic and a high-collared jacket with bell sleeves that looked much too warm for the weather, and the split skirt and legging combination that came from Abastion noble fashion, but which had found a home in wealthy merchant circles throughout the western Theyndora countries.
She rose and set her hand to her breast and made a half-bow. “Welcome to the Lells,” she said. Patch regarded them with interest but did not bother. She nearly smacked his leg but thought better of it. If they disliked his disrespect, they could call him out on it themselves.
He nodded his head, as regally as Midir. “Thank you.” He studied her, quick but intent. “Perhaps you discount it, but your resemblance to your mother is uncanny.” His rich, cultured voice possessed a hint of Dentherion accent, but he sounded as if he came from southern Jilvayna or Abastion.
“As you recognized, this is my sister, Melanthe,” Faelan said, motioning to her. “Lanth, please meet Jo Ban Jano.”
How many would realize, the stylish older man sitting with the law-and-order group was a Minq syndicate terrboss?
Shara stepped past the tables and crashed onto a bench slid against the building’s wall; the others followed her example. Whitley politely offered the cushions and arranged them to the satisfaction of the older men before both sank down with satisfied, relieved sighs. Lapis snuggled back with Patch, wallowing in his warmth while she could.
“I knew Maydie and Movique were pushing this, but I didn’t expect this many people,” Captain Ryalla said, scanning the nearest heads. “And we haven’t even started yet.” She eyed the two men, her brown gaze stern. “This means you’re either sitting there or walking around with Shara and me.”
“While possible, I doubt trouble will rear its head,” Jo Ban said as he selected a large, salt-crusted yellow chip. “Our people are here in force, and there are no city patrollers to cause mischief.”
Between the Minq guards and the rebels wandering about the crowd, Lapis doubted anything but a peaceful night interrupted by the random drunk or drugged individual, as typical and expected. Not that khentauree and terrons were typical, but their arrival counted as a surprise.
The crowd broke, and Armarandos walked through, tipping his head in greeting to the people, affable and calm. He dressed in a loose tunic, nice but unornamented black pants and knee-high boots, a perfect fit for western Jiy and the night ahead. He had worn a similar style while overseeing the soft openings of the centers, one meant to be unintimidating but semi-official, and not as rigid as guard uniforms. His eyes scanned the tables, noted the rats and Iole, and smiled. “I expect this will be a busy niche,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed—though, she knew, none of her compatriots, other than Patch, realized how hectic. Once word spread of the veritiate deathknell painting kids’ faces, she anticipated a brisk business.
“I’ll be here,” he said as he picked up one of the paint bottles and glanced at the label. “I’ve been told that several of the outcast nobles from the western mansions want an interview, and the space for such is limited.”
“Have fun.” Lapis smacked Patch’s leg, annoyed at the deadpan humor.
“You better not desert me,” she told him crossly.
“I said I’d be here,” he reminded her. “I never said I’d be nice, especially to snobby pricks wanting the new centers to provide unpaid enforcers.”
“Don’t look at me,” Faelan said before she looked at him. Her partner’s wide grin exasperated her even more.
“I take it they want renewed patrols?” Lord Adrastos asked.
Armarandos nodded. “Yes, and a few perks I’m unwilling to grant. I doubt they realize I won’t bend backwards for their petty wants. There are far more pressing issues than fake noble fear.”
“Ha!” his father gloated. “They’ll get to see your true stubbornness.”
“Like father, like son,” Jo Ban chuckled. Lord Adrastos fanned the words away.
Armarandos set the paint back on the table. “Have you seen Gabby?”
A twinge of sadness clenched Lapis’s chest. “Not today. But she will be here to get her face painted.”
He half-smiled. “I must speak with her.”
“She’s mourning,” Patch said, rocking his wake juice back and forth on his index finger. “She wants to help people, she wants to be a good person, and she doesn’t think either’s now possible.”
Armarandos nodded, not sad, but thoughtfully accepting. “I assumed as much. The shattering of ideals is always difficult.”
She thinks being good is the reason the palace punished you,” Lapis told him.
“Gabby?” Jo Ban asked.
“A twelve-year-old urchin,” Lapis said. “Her dream is to be a knight who helps others, and she sees Armarandos and Jarosa as heroes.”
“A worthy dream. Shara was of a similar mind, at that age.”
“I loved the tales of Coradelle,” the Minq boss admitted. “She and her sword, ridding the world of the monsters that plagued it. Grand-da took me and Neassa to the Dethan Theater production of ‘The Bane of Witch Lake.’ I think every piece of furniture got banged on when we got home.”
“They made their own swords out of curtain rods when I refused to let them use mine,” he said. “My wife was greatly displeased when she came home and the drapes were bunched up on the floor.”
“I should look into getting those books into the reading collection,” Lapis said. “Gabby isn’t the only rat who’d love to read about her adventures.”
Patch jerked his chin; she looked and smiled in greeting. “Yedin! Good to see you!”
He grinned back, before glancing at Armarandos, then back to her. An older man accompanied him, looking to be the same age as Lord Adrastos. “The merchants said you’d be hard to miss,” he said. “I figured you’d know who to talk to, about maybe us farmers settin’ up a booth. It’s a good way for us to get the word out about transferrin’ to Blossom.”
“You’ve decided to go?” she asked as Armarandos paid more attention.
“Yeah. Just got done with a crown rep, sayin’ we farmers are a drain on Jiy, takin’ up space ‘n money better spent elsewhere. They’re talkin’ about further raisin’ fees for sellin’. With no profits, there’s no reason to stay.”
“Been sellin’ here my whole life,” the older man said. “People need to eat. Why they’re stifflin’ that, is confusin’.”
“Gall plays a game, but he is not intelligent enough to move the pawns,” Jo Ban said. “Punishing western Jiy for something as yet unknown is going to win him resentment, only.” He shook his head. “I’m grateful my granddaughter is navigating this. I don’t think her predecessor had the intuition or fortitude.”
“Considering I won against him, hand-to-hand, at my age, that’s a given,” Lord Adrastos grumbled.
“Adrastos, you are a man unto yourself,” Jo Ban replied with a flourish of his hand. “Though Shara would make a far better showing, if you attempted such with her.”
The face the noble made nearly sent Lapis into gales. “I’d never,” he said, too serious. “Humiliation isn’t in me at this age.”
“You can set up here,” Faelan offered, sweeping his hand to the side. “A lot of people will be around talking about the community centers with Armarandos. You can catch them as they do.”
“That’s generous,” the older man said, relieved. “Thank you. Have to say, with the crowds, didn’t know where else might be good.”
“This is my grand-da, Emmer,” Yedin said. “Our family owns a lot of the farmland around Jiy, so the others thought we should be the reps. Well, that, and I’ve met Armarandos.”
The ex-knight nodded. “That was an odd night. It seems as if it presaged the strangeness of now.”
A woman appeared out of the crowd, intent on Armarandos. She wore a blue jacket decorated with gold thread and stiff white ruffles that ran from the hem up the placket to her neck and stood as a tall collar, and darker blue pants with the bottoms covered by black boots, reminding Lapis of noble horse-riding wear. Her dark golden hair was pulled back into a messy array of pinned curls, though tresses fell in front of her ears and framed a cherry-cheeked face. Worry underlined her deep brown eyes, though smoky makeup mitigated some of the look.
“Wondrous,” Patch grumbled. Was this the noble he spoke of earlier? Just their luck, to start off the celebration with a snobby noble complaining about the unsafe Grey Streets.
Armarandos glanced at her, surprised. “Kalliope! I thought your family decided to visit Dentheria.”
She pulled nervously at the hem of her jacket. “They did,” she said. “And I told them I preferred to stay. They aren’t happy, and I don’t care.” Her gaze flicked to the rest of them, then, in a rush, planted her knee on the ground and grabbed his hand. “Armarandos, will you do me the pleasure of being my husband?”
The squee of absolute delight from a beaming Lord Adrastos broke through the gape-mouthed, frozen astonishment of everyone else. Armarandos blinked, and anxiety wafted from the woman before he smiled and shook his head in wonder.
“Of course I will,” he said, the warmth of an early-year sunny day sifting through his tone.
She perked up. “You-you will?”
“Kalliope,” he said with happy exasperation as he pulled her up and into his embrace. Tears pricked Lapis’s eyes at their storybook, ecstatic kiss; joy, in so desperate a time. The darkness of uncertainty lifted, filling the space with precious hope.
A hand slipped into her own, and a body pressed into hers. She looked down at Gabby, whose eyes shone, overbright. “Did she just propose to Sir Armarandos?” she whispered, setting her chin on her shoulder.
“Yes, she did.” She grinned evilly. “Should we go tell everyone?” she asked in a loud whisper.
Gabby beamed. “Yes!”
“Oh, no—” Armarandos began, holding up a hand, but, being far enough away, could not halt the two of them from careening into the crowd, whistling and trumpeting the good news to all within hearing.
