Lapis leaned against the wall of the comms room, near the corner and out of the way of rushing Minq who wrote down reports, then ran them to the safehouse’s boss. She should have remained in the dimly lit, cozy entertainment room, but she could not watch the news covering the skyshroud’s crash. They replayed recordings from average citizens, from law enforcement, they got their hands on security footage, all angles, various distances . . .

The ship crashed. Buildings fell. People died. Why did they have to replay it over and over again?

At least one retired military specialist for Kardell’s News at Night suggested the ‘shroud ran out of aquatheerdaal—and pointed to the jets running white, then dying. He related how that was an obvious sign of depleted reserves, and when a reporter asked if another might crash, he gave them no hope that Dentheria could keep the vessels in the air.

She had the impression no one knew where half the military leadership was—probably squished or burnt to a crisp because they attended some special meeting at the Leads. The Lords’ Council members who rushed to the Dentheria Council complex in Allesha refused to answer questions. Second Councilors, grim and shaken, promised to delve into what happened and fix it. They had to know about the shortages, too, but never thought the populace would find out in such a devastating manner.

She pressed her head back against the bumpy, tan paint until pain zipped through her scalp to her forehead. They needed to leave, beat the ‘shroud to Torc Bedan. Why were they still at the House?

“I’m fine, Shara,” Jo Ban reiterated, leaning into the fuzzy round tech object he spoke into as if she could see his sincerity. White bangs dislodged from the top of his head, and he smoothed them away from his sharp brown eyes. “Your father is fine, if a bit ruffled.”

“We’ll come to get you.”

“They’ve cut off all air traffic,” the Minq manning the comms said in a raised voice. “They even took a shot at a private Swift to prove their point. You won’t keep a Swift airborne anywhere near Trave right now.”

“That means Pheno can’t take off, either,” Jo Ban said, stroking his neat goatee with bony fingers. “And we have no guesses as to how long she’ll be landed.”

“Aunt Ra Na said you need to get to Jilvayna.”

“And she’s right, but it won’t be in a Swift.”

Lapis rubbed at her forehead; a headache threatened, just when she needed her thoughts clear.

Patch peeked inside, slipped to her, cupped her hand, and tugged. She obediently followed, though if he attempted to force her into the lounge, he mistook her want to watch a disaster unfold. She did not care if that was where the food and drink were; she would rather her tummy grumble.

Instead, he led her to a room on the other side of the house, away from the frantic rush. Unlike the Gypsum building, the Bluebird safehouse was a sprawling stonework manor on the edges of Trave, in a community Lapis never would have dared step foot inside, were it in Jiy. She would have ended up with a sword in the gut from an over-eager personal guard, even if she displayed her chaser credentials to prove she should be there.

The plush brown furniture, golden chandeliers, thick carpets, and multiple paintings sat ill with her. The entire place was a reminder that the rich and powerful had little care for the lesser squished beneath their sculpted heels. “We need to go, Patch.”

“And we need a safe route to do so.”

She hissed her breath over her teeth, and he squeezed her fingers.

“It won’t be long. The safehouses run by Jo Ban’s family prepared for an empire disaster because he anticipated Dentheria falling apart. And he wasn’t wrong.”

Linz walked out of the door at the end of the hall, arms folded, their face blank. After watching a close-up of the crash, they left the entertainment room, which prompted Lapis to vacate as well. In fact, none of the Jiy contingent stayed except for Chiddle and Tuft, and she did not know if they remained transfixed, or found a more productive thing to do, like staring at the minute cracks in the paint on the ceiling.

“Lanth, Faelan wants to talk to you,” they said.

Oh. She stepped inside and glanced around. The Minq had shoved chairs and a couch against the dinged white walls to make room for tables filled with tech balanced precariously on blinking boxes and dusty speakers. Wires of multiple colors and thicknesses connected items without rhyme or reason. Screens displayed a continuous line that spiked up and down and corresponded to the crackling static. Sils sat at a keyboard, fiddling with knobs on a fat panel to the side. He smiled and handed her a stick with a puffy foam end. She brought it to her lips.

“Faelan?”

“Lanth.” And she thought his relief when she spoke with him at the Shivers was intense. “You’re alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine. We’re all fine, if shaken. We weren’t close to the crash.”

“But you watched the ‘shroud go down?”

“Yeah. It failed and took three cloudbreakers with it.” She paused to take a deeper breath. “It bumped another one. That one’s headed to Torc Bedan, and it’s having problems.”

“So Sils said. Let’s hope its difficulties delay it until you’re gone. I have new orders for you. I’m sending two House leaders to Sils’ border shop to prep the Swift landing platform. After you rescue the khentauree and recapture the scientist, head there. I doubt the border patrols are going to bother with the backroads traffic—they have other problems. Lanth, just . . . be careful.”

“I will,” she promised. “What’s going on in Jiy? Does anyone there know yet?”

“Starlit Nights is proceeding as normal at the palace, so we don’t think Gall knows. A few tourists have freaked out at the Night Market because family contacted them on their comm devices, so word is spreading through the Grey Streets. It will probably catch fire when shops open tomorrow morning.”

Typical. And she knew, he already planned to take advantage of the situation. Dentheria now had a ginormous problem, and once people realized the empire did not have enough aquatheerdaal to power its military hardware, rebellions and syndicates would act.

“Faelan, if you get the chance, you should contact Kathandra. Amarie’s with us, and I’m sure her family would love to know that she’s safe.”

“Amarie?”

“She’s Lady Maurojay’s granddaughter, which makes her Kathandra’s niece. Authorities arrested her for protesting against the puppet kings, and the Lords’ Council wanted to make an example of her. Lord Aventen asked Jo Ban to secret her away, and he agreed. That’s why they got caught near the crash.”

“I’ll have uncle see if he can get through to the workstation.”

A hand settled on her shoulder; she looked up at Jo Ban. He smiled gently before taking the tech from her. “Faelan?”

“Jo Ban. I hear you are well.”

“Surprisingly chipper, considering. Have you spoken with Shara about transportation?”

“Briefly. At present, there is no safe way to get a Swift into and out of Trave, so I want my people to meet up with rebels at Sils’ border shop. There’s a Swift platform there we can use.”

“Would you mind, if six more hitch a ride? The Minq Assemblage wants me in Jiy.”

“You do know they’re hitting Torc Bedan first?”

A wide smile lit the man’s face. “Yes. And now they will have Minq backup.”

“Then we welcome the additions.”

Jo Ban laughed. “That was an easy convince. You shouldn’t worry; your sister is in good hands—her own.”

“She is,” Faelan agreed.

A tingle raced through Lapis’s chest, into her neck, and spread across her face. She did not consider herself the equal of Patch or Brander, but to have a Minq terrboss, and one as powerful as Jo Ban Jano, show such respect for her abilities . . .

Running footsteps, and Rin swung around the doorframe. “They gots the blockade maps,” he said. “We’s ready t’ go.”

“Get in, get out, and get to Sils’ shop,” Faelan said. “Faelan out.”

Antsy uncertainty drifted into sleepy boredom as Lapis rocked along with the vehicle. It rolled over snow-packed dirt roads lined with stately evergreens and leafless bushes, around the bottoms of natural hillsides, and across shuddering bridges; all typical city outskirts nature area, nothing to see other than plants and rocks.

She yawned; she needed her wits about her for the infiltration, but the long night had caught her and her human companions. All dozed, since they did not have to worry about being alert on the way. Chiddle and Tuft remained attentive, but she could not tell if the situation or the Minq prompted their vigilance.

They now rode in a caravan of two blocky rollers with reinforced walls and chains on the six wheels, both loaned from the Bluebird, both driven by stern Minq in marching shirts and body armor. Each vehicle had three Minq guards, and their no-nonsense demeanor made Lapis feel safe but insecure at the same time.

Above her, cyan flashed; she forced her eyes wider and looked at the black bulk of ‘shroud making its momentous way across the twinkling sky. While semi-hidden by the tree tiptops, she could still make out the enormous body and the flashing lights.

A guard lowered her seefar and leaned back from the window, rubbing at the rubber that encased the thick round cylinders holding the lenses. “They’re still evacuating,” she said. “They might not have anyone on board but the emergency crew once they reach Torc Bedan. They might even dock it remotely.”

“They have shit luck with that,” another muttered. “Didn’t a ‘shroud tear a dock apart last year in Ramira?”

“Something like.”

Despite knowing the corruption of the empire and its councils, it startled Lapis that they took such ill care of the humongous ships and their docking stations. The skyshrouds represented power and strength, and accidents concerning them would sunder both. The current incident, where a ‘shroud took down important city buildings as it crashed, might prove an insurmountable cliff when it came to rebuilding standing and trust.

“They’re stupid, if they think Drakeways won’t try to board.” The second guard peered through his seefar at the other side of the road.

“Maybe the leadership wants that. Then they can blame an obvious scapegoat if things go wrong at the base. Who knows, they might even pin the Leads crash on them.” Patch shifted in his seat to look sleepily out the window.

“Someone’s probably hoping they can pull it off and deflect public anger,” the first guard said. “No one in the government wants to deal with bullyboy syndicates taking advantage of the disaster, and the Drakes are callous enough to try.”

Lapis had doubts any shanks remained at the base, just as she had doubts the craft could stay in the air. If it, too, ran low on aquatheerdaal, getting nailed by another ‘shroud and expending resources to remain afloat did not help conserve its supply.

She settled her head on Patch’s shoulder, wrapped her hands around her upper arms, and whisked through scenarios. What if she speculated wrong, and Drakeways had more than a handful of shanks left at the base? What if soldiers already showed up, and they had a fight with the remaining Drakes, which put them on high alert? What if the military arrived at an empty base and now prepped for a docking? What if . . .

She had not realized she nodded off until Patch squeezed her leg. She blinked and looked up; the roller had stopped and the riders unloaded. She rose, stiff, and winced, shaking her legs and rubbing her eyes before following her partner out of the vehicle.

The drivers halted below a rise, and they tromped through previous tire tracks and wind-whipped snow flurries to the top. From the vantage point, they could see the spread of a wide valley blanketed in night-blue snow. A black blot of a walled complex stood to the northwest, tech lights blazing at what Lapis assumed were entrances. A rectangular structure positioned to the north hovered over all other buildings, as dark as the base’s interior. Was that the dock? It rose maybe six stories, and she did not notice the typical ring used to anchor the ships circling the top.

A broad, unlit expanse spanned from the base into the center of the valley floor. Beyond it, stationary lights that probably belonged to scattered farmsteads glowed, with a cluster producing a dim yellow haze further north. A town? At least none of the habitations looked close enough for the residents to get nosy about infiltrators.

Sils focused his seefar on the southern entrance, then turned his head to follow along the wall. “I don’t see anyone,” he whispered. “The guard towers are empty and the yard looks vacant, and I don’t see the illumination you’d expect if Drakeways was still there or the military had shown up.”

“You said the Drakes looked to be on their way out when you sent the drone.” Patch touched his patch and the lights whirled, but Lapis doubted he detected anything at that distance.

“Yeah, though if anyone remains, they’re stuck and probably hiding. No one’s going to evac them with a ‘shroud hovering overhead.”

“The khentauree are there,” Tuft said. He stood apart from them, his hair, earrings and tail dancing merrily in the slicing wind while the rest of him remained frozen. “Their words are faint whispers, and I cannot understand.”

“The Drakes may well have left them behind.” Sils lowered the seefars and studied the mechanical being. “They’re cowardly enough to look at saving their own skin first.”

“A shame, if they are already gone,” Jo Ban said. He hunched down, the raised collar of his coat protecting the sides of his head, his hands stuffed into his armpits. He should have remained in the roller’s heated interior, like Vu Ne and Amarie, rather than suffer the frozen night air. “Moorlight would be the sweet prize icing the cake.”

Ah. His want to accompany their group became clear; he had a large stake on Moorlight’s head, and doing the Assemblage’s bidding to get to Jilvayna as quickly as possible covered his need to personally see it fulfilled. Too bad. She knew a myriad of things she could purchase with metgal, including clothes and books for the rats, clay and paints for Phialla and Ness’s pottery, a drum or two for Brone. The rest would be a fat rainy day fund for feeding the street kids during the coldest winter days, when pickings and goodwill towards the less fortunate were sparse.

“Jhor and I got in through a culvert on the eastern side,” Sils said. “It’s partially hidden by a snowbank, but it doesn’t look like the Drakes blocked it off.”

“We’ll head down without lights,” the driver of Lapis’s vehicle said. “Just in case someone is there, and antsy about the military arriving before they leave.”

Without lights? Hopefully they had some fancy tech way of seeing the road. Lapis turned, heading for the roller; there was nothing much else to say or see. Rin caught her step. “Lady—”

“You’re not going in.”

“No,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. “Faelan said no, ‘n Patch’s already told me t’ help as directed by the Minq, ‘n keep watch fer trouble.” He bowed his head. “But Faelan ain’t the only one worryin’ ‘bout you, Lady. They’s dangerous shanks there.”

“They are. And Patch and I have chased our fair share of similar people. We’ll be fine.”

“Lady? I gots a feelin’ ‘bout this. It’s not good.”

Lapis eyed him, then nodded. Unease was the least of her fears, and she did not blame him for his. Chasing was a dangerous occupation, especially in these situations. “It’ll be an agonizing wait, I know. I’ve worn boots out pacing while Patch completed the more risky tasks. But if something happens, do as Faelan ordered. Go with the rollers, get to Sils’ border shop, hitch a ride to Jiy. It won’t come to that, though.”

“Better not.”

She slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed. Whether he realized it or not, the wait game was a central part of chasing. It leaned either boring or excruciating, with little between. A good learning experience, as long as the rollers remained hidden. If the Drakes or military noticed them, the guards would get Jo Ban to safety rather than wait for the infiltration group to return.

Rin’s return hug near broke her back, and she wondered how much of that he guessed.