The Swift rocked and Lapis winced, grabbing the strap over her shoulder; Patch glanced over and snagged her close before returning to the black screen and the white words it displayed. Faelan sent an update on the mission with Brander, uploaded to a hand-held Minq device that allowed the reader to scroll through text using their thumb. Hiding her unwarranted awe of the object did not fool her partner, and he still had a small grin as he read the contents.

He had been staring at it for the entire trip so far, too. How much info did her brother include in that update?

She slammed her hand down on the bench for support as the craft shook. They had taken off just as the first flakes of snow fluttered down on the workstation. The winds picked up, sending gusts of cold across her legs and face as she clambered up the ramp. Even her chaser muff did not block enough to keep her from shuddering. She had hunched down in her rebel-issue black coat next to Patch and worried about flying in adverse weather, while the pilot shrugged and told her that she had navigated worse.

Where did the Minq pilots get this training? In Jilvayna? Had Gall not cared? Or had he turned his back on the underground propagation of illegal machines because other issues garnered his attention?

Carnival had said that he had heard through his travels that other puppet rulers ignored tech use in their countries because they did not have the weaponry to fight it anymore. Kings like Gall liked their skin more than pushing confrontations with the syndicates that they might not win.

The Swift rocked again, her tummy jumped to her throat, and she thanked the non-existent gods that Tamor was on another craft. She did not think she could handle listening to him puke. Of course, Caitria said they planned to dose him with sleeping pills, so the trip would not be a difficult passage for him. Thinking about remaining nauseous for hours and hours while they flew to Abastion made her shudder. He did not deserve that misery.

Patch smacked a kiss to her head, and she snuggled as close as the seat belt allowed.

Brander glanced at them, then back at the foggy view from the small window to his side. Lapis noted his hands clenched the shoulder strap, the only sign he found the trip disconcerting. At least she had one sympathetic friend on the craft; neither her partner nor the pilot seemed bothered by the rocking and jolting.

She planted her feet against the wobbly flight, which shook crates stacked in the back with a frightening rattle of sound. The yellow straps used to keep them in place strained and held, and while she had no reason to think they would break, she still ran through contingency plans if they did. One loose crate could cause harm to any of them, considering how heavy they were.

She pondered what they contained. Tech? Weapons? No one had told her, but she had not asked, either.

“So Sherridan’s pretty sure Hoyt’s in Abastion?” Patch asked.

“Looks that way,” Brander replied. “Part of the cache that Thyden found are instructions to report to Davin about ring business until he gets back, and personal correspondence is supposed to be sent to Calderton, a city in northern Abastion near Shivers, one of the mines we think both Bov Caardinva and the markweza want to find. It’s strange, though. Last anyone knew, Davin worked for the Beryl as a secondary boss. Seems odd, someone with enough ambition to climb a syndicate ladder chose to work for a smaller, poorer ring. Something’s up.”

“Well, it could be as simple as Hoyt owing money and hooked up with the Beryl hoping cash flowed his way, and the Beryl made that a stipulation of their help.”

“What about Siward?” Lapis asked. “Or his brothers? They’d seem like obvious seconds.”

“No one’s seen Siward since those unknown men took him from Underville,” Patch said. “I’m betting the Pit welcomed him weeks ago. But his brothers? I don’t know why Sibs or Eb isn’t in charge. I can’t imagine Sibs is happy about the whole thing. He expected a bit more in the way of power after Cimis died.”

Lapis thought she should feel guilty about knocking Siward out, which let Granna Cup misidentify him to those men, but she could not dredge up enough to make it worthwhile. Siward was as nasty as guttershanks came, and if he left the world, it now was a better place.

“All right, we’re going to arrive soon,” the pilot said. “The two Swifts carrying the terrons and khentauree are landing first, then taking off to make certain they beat the storm back to Jilvayna. Hopefully we can get unloaded before it gets bad.”

Lapis glanced out the window on her side of the craft; more snow fell, and the evergreens below looked to have a dusting of white. Southern Abastion had beaches and warm weather; why did they get stuck in the north, where the tall mountains sat under a blanket of snow for the cold season? She stuck her hands in her armpits, snuggled against Patch, and concentrated on not shivering.

As with the rest of the flight, other than windy fingers knocking the Swift about, nothing untoward happened during the landing. The craft settled down, they waited a moment, and the pilot flipped switches before the ramp deployed. Lapis grabbed her pack from the stowaway bin above her head and skitted off, happy to put two feet on firm, unmoving ground.

The platform was a huge cement rectangle with painted orange circles and dashed yellow lines in front of a half-cylinder hangar. Snow skittered across it, blown by the strong wind, and pelted the trees surrounding the meadow. Lapis snagged her energized hair and looked at the hunched and shivering group from Jilvayna standing to the right, then up to see two Swifts disappearing into the low clouds. The fourth craft hovered over a circle three down from them. Once it settled, a grinding sound echoed from the ground, and four grooved, shuddering walls slowly rose from steel-lined indents around the platform. The walls came to a halt and the roof from the hangar extended, hiding the entirety of it from aerial view.

“Daddy!”

Caitria ran to a man walking in front of a group wearing heavy grey coats, thick snow pants, and carrying weapons; he grinned and trotted to her, swinging her into a huge hug. He had shorter brown hair spiked on top, a long face with angular features, and a brushing of stubble. While he did not share the same features as his daughter, their wide smiles matched perfectly. The other Abastions waited for their turn to greet her, while her father walked to the Jilvaynan contingent standing in the center of the platform, uncertain what to do.

Lapis hurried over with Patch and Brander; her luck, they would miss some important instruction that would bite them later.

“Welcome to Ragehill,” he said, with the same cheerful grin Caitria used. “I go by Lorcan. We’ll unload the Swifts and get the supplies in storage, hopefully fast enough to get them back in the air before the storm intensifies. If not, everyone’s welcome to stay as long as need be.” He rubbed his gloved hands together. “This hangar is the top end of an old military complex. We have an entire town down there, so if you wander about and get lost, there should be someone nearby who can help.

“You might laugh at that, but this place is huge. It has four levels, too. Now, the upper two have walkways large enough for the terrons, so that’s where we’ve set you up. We’ve modified a commons room we use as a hotel to fit everyone comfortably, but there still might be an adjustment or two to make. So come, we’ll get you settled.”

A grey coat barked an order, and the group under his command scattered to unload the Swifts as Lorcan led them to the back of the hangar and to a quadruple-wide stairwell leading into the ground.

Lapis had tangentially thought the space would be a commons room where they could set out sleeping bags, with an oven or stove to cook food. Delight filled her chest at being wrong. Thick brown carpet complemented the warm, off-white walls and the plethora of tall umber screens that created cozy spaces for humans to sleep. Matching umber, bowl-shaped chandeliers hung from the ceiling, providing a soft yellow illumination. In the center, padding with ample blankets provided a soft cushion for the terrons, with extras stacked nearby, along with more screens. Cabinets lined the left wall, with two oval tables, chairs, and appliances Lapis did not recognize. A closed double door wide enough for the terrons had exit written above it in bright orange. Another, open doorway on the right led to a tech room with blinking metal casings, communications equipment, and a bunch of objects she had no name for.

“Go ahead and get settled,” Lorcan told them before pointing to the exit. “That door leads to the restrooms and showers. It’s indoor plumbing and heated. The room used to be a changing room, so there’s lockers and such, and a large space with grates behind a curtain. Mint and Tia, we figured you could use that as a restroom, but if it isn’t what you need, please tell us and we’ll rearrange as needed. I need to see how the unloading is going. Caitria—”

“I can show them around,” she said breezily.

“And Melly’s cooking for you. The room opposite the comms.”

Caitria beamed and kissed him on the cheek. He cheerfully vacated, leaving them to select which space each wanted for sleep.

Tamor slogged to the first screened room, dropped his pack, collapsed on the lower mattress of a bunk bed, and began to snore.

“I think I dosed him too much,” Caitria fretted, pulling her lips to the side in an annoyed frown. “But he slept the entire flight without a problem.”

“That’s for the best,” Mairin told her. “No puking.”

“I suppose.” The Abastion rebel motioned to the screens. “The rooms have different set-ups, like bunk beds or two-person beds, and rockers and desks and such. You can leave your packs there without worry, too.”

“This is pretty nice, for a thrown-together hotel,” Patch said, glancing around.

“Actually, Dad puts up a lot of rebels here. Summer’s busy, but once the snows hit, traffic slows to a trickle.” Caitria smiled at Mairin. “Pick a room, put our stuff there. I’ll see if Melly’s got the food ready yet. I’m starving!”

Patch chose a room with an enormous bed rather than bunks. Chill air drifted from the outer wall, but not enough to make the area too cold for Lapis. Marveling at how toasty the place was, she set her pack against the nightstand, tried the mattress, and grinned. Soft, inviting, and they each got two pillows!

Patch leaned over and nuzzled her lips. “Better than you expected?”

“I didn’t think it would be warm.”

“Caitria’s talked about Ragehill, so I knew they had generators and stuff, but yeah. Warmer than the Eaves or the mansion.”

She kissed him. “This is almost as comfy as your four-poster bed.”

He chuckled and pulled her to her feet. “The screens even muffle sound. That’s a nice touch.”

Slipping her hand into his, she smiled before leaving the room, hoping the promised food arrived promptly. She had not eaten since that morning, and the trip had taken the rest of the day. Food, then a nap . . .

She stopped. Stared. Heat roared into her cheeks, filled her chest; she puffed up, her shoulders stiffened.

Patch slipped his arms around her from the back and squeezed. “Calm down.”

“Uh-oh,” Rin said.

Not one, oh no. Not one, but TWO stupid rats decided a rebel mission was a perfect opportunity to hitch a ride to a foreign country. Lapis could not force words past her fury as she glared at Rin and Scand.

Had Tovi helped sneak them aboard a cargo Swift? That would explain his smugness. And since Rin had succeeded in his last stowaway adventure—

Her knuckles cracked.

“Lanth,” Patch said, his tone deep, soothing.

“I need to go for a walk.” Get out, move, before she screamed herself hoarse at the two not-sorry stubborn rats who stood with unwarranted confidence, despite hiding behind the man who had led them to the room.

“Lanth!” Patch called as she tore from him and shot past the three of them and into the hallway.

How dare they? How dare they put themselves in danger like this? What if the rebels had taken exception to their presence? The ones who greeted them carried weapons, and they could have met their end on the wrong side of a tech beam. Star’s fortune did not begin to explain that luck.

Rin had stormed away before she left, had not even said goodbye. She fumed at his stubbornness, felt morose that he so coldly turned his back, especially since Faelan gave her an emotional goodbye, but shoved it down into the sludge that carried her hurts. Instead of falling to despondency, she should have guessed he planned this foolhardiness. And Scand? What in the names of the non-existent gods was HE thinking?

She would yell at them, then plop them on the Swifts to return with the pilots to Midir’s farm. Maybe Varr could knock some sense into their brains once they landed. Maybe she could contact Faelan, and he could guilt them into a shame-faced apology for causing so much difficulty. She knew he excelled at that, having been on the receiving end during her childhood.

Chill filled the landing platform, and she wished she had a heavier coat. Slapping her hands in her armpits, she strode to Lorcan, who spoke with the two Minq pilots; all three looked resigned. He glanced at her and smiled; his amusement grated.

“Stowaways, eh?” he said. He waved a hand at the ceiling. “Unfortunately, the winds are picking up and we haven’t finished unloading. The Swifts are grounded until the storm passes.”

Dammit.

Patch halted at her side, hands in his pockets, his expression not giving away his thoughts, though, by his stance, he held no anger. “How long will that be?”

“Near three days,” he said. “It’s the first big storm, and that’s usually how long they last. We’ll see what the winds are like after that.” He cocked his head. “Rin’s your apprentice?”

“They both are,” she muttered. “They’re working for me as a ‘keeper while they learn how to chase.” She rubbed at her eyes, pressing water onto her lashes. “I’m sorry about this. I should have checked and made certain he was at the Eaves before leaving for the workstation. I knew he was upset I told him I wasn’t taking him with me, and, well . . .”

“Caitria’s written us about the street rats,” Lorcan said. “And your reading circle. Rin seems the type to do as he will, with the best intentions, of course.”

“Of course,” she replied, her tone as heavy and stiff as a stone. He patted her shoulder in sympathetic humor.

“There’s plenty for two mischievous teens to do that will keep them busy,” he told her. “I’ve years behind me doing the same for Caitria and her sister and the orphans.”

“Lorcan!”

They looked at the small window that one of the armed rebels stood at. Lapis marveled the guard could even see out of it, the fog coated it so thick.

“One of them’s back, at the tree line.”

“Yeah?” Lorcan asked, frowning, hurrying over. He rubbed the glass with his sleeve, peered out the panes, then motioned at her and Patch. “Come here and look,” he said.

She glanced at her partner, then trotted to the window.

Enough snow had fallen to blanket the ground and leafless bushes in a thin coat of white, mud peeking through at odd intervals. The unpaved road leading from the hangar entered the trees and curved behind large evergreen trunks; standing in the shadows of one, leaning out and looking at the structure, was the vague outline of a tall human. Lapis squinted; did she see a khentauree body?

“That’s a khentauree,” Patch confirmed. He touched his patch and the blue lights blazed to life, spinning around the outer edge while the center twirled into a fan shape, pulling back to reveal a round socket glowing red and blue.

Lapis’s mind raced. “Ghost said that khentauree slow down during cold weather. The sponoil gets sluggish, and they can’t operate effectively. They might be looking for some sort of shelter.”

“We’ve seen a group of them, off and on, for a few weeks now,” Lorcan said, rubbing at his lower lip with his knuckle. “Just glimpses, really, among the trees, and we didn’t know what they were. They showed up at the same time as the group who invaded the Shivers. Meergevens, Caitria said. Someone else showed up after them, and they didn’t get along well. They had a couple of confrontations using tech weapons. We saw these khentauree more frequent after that.”

“So they may have escaped the mines?” Lapis asked.

Lorcan pulled a palm-sized square device from his pocket and pressed a recessed button at the bottom. It had a speaker and a green screen with a jagged line racing across it.

“What’s up?” That sounded like Caitria.

“Honey, we need the khentauree at the hangar. It looks like we have a group of them out in the woods.”

“Just a sec.” Her voice became faint, accompanied by clicking and crackling, then blared loud enough Lapis winced. “Chiddle, Sanna and Jhor are on their way. I gave Sanna the frequency for the comm so she can talk to you.”

“You must speak with them.” The khentauree’s voice sounded clearer than Caitria’s as it sprang from the speaker. “But they do not understand Lyddisian. We know Lyddisian because Jhor uploaded it to us. They will know only old languages. Tell them ‘Oonds brans khentauree providsansed.’”

Lapis trotted to the nearest door, which slid into the wall rather than opening outward, and stepped into the cold. She shuddered as the wind and white flakes streaked through her hair, and tamped down on the strands. She raised her other hand and waved at the khentauree. “Oonds brans khentauree providsansed!” she shouted.

They pushed from the tree, and stood, watching her, but hesitated as Patch joined her, holding the communication device. That made sense, especially if humans had driven them from their home—and old memories of human interactions would not reassure them, if the mine owners at the Shivers behaved in any way similar to those at Ambercaast.

“Say ‘Khentauree brans praash. Play stak leenk ay ilk’,” Sanna said.

She dutifully relayed the message. The khentauree took a step, glanced behind, and took another before timidly walking to them. She did not move, because they might spook. If they looked for shelter, she did not want to drive them away from it, especially with a major storm beginning.

“Sanna, they are here,” she whispered. The khentauree buzzed and the new arrival’s head swiveled to the device Patch held. They had a quick conversation before Lorcan and the others moved out of the doorway to let the three outside. Lapis and Patch stepped to the side with the modder, who studied the mechanical being with single-minded intensity. The khentauree spoke fast enough, the words blended into a hearty drone.

“He is Drizzle,” Sanna stated. “They are five. They guard the khentauree, as we and Ghost do. But humans came and drove them from the mine. The humans only wanted the khentauree who went to silence. There are many others, more than at Ambercaast, who hide in the mine. They are in Gedaavik’s laboratories. The humans have not found them yet, but they are afraid. The five want to help them, but because the khentauree are cold, and the sponoil is slow, they are slow.”

“We’ll get them inside,” Lapis promised. “And we’ll see what we can do about helping those trapped in Shivers.”

“We have a vehicle that can carry them,” Lorcan said. “It has a large back with plenty of space for khentauree. How far are they?”

Sanna looked at Drizzle, and a burst of sound erupted from them. “He says before the turnaround, just off the road.”

Lorcan looked at the darkening sky. “Close enough we should be able to get them before the storm gets much worse. Tarry! Get the flatbed.”

Lapis and Patch borrowed heavier grey coats and gloves from a line of them against the wall near the stairwell; she felt odd wearing someone else’s attire, but neither Lorcan nor his crew seemed to think it strange. She pulled up the fluffy hood and tied it tight, wishing she had a scarf or her neck muff with her. She did not look forward to breathing the cold air.

They did not wait long for the transportation. She stared at the vehicle, feeling out of place among those who easily used tech. The flatbed metal wagon ran on its own, no horse or cow needed. Tarry sat in the center of the bench in the front, clutching a dented wheel that looked like a ship’s helm. Two poles held an awning in place over him, but no box separated him from the back. The bottom had a metal rectangle that emitted heat. Was that the power source?

Lorcan grabbed two handles on the back and slid a ramp down; the khentauree trotted up and sat down near the driver. The rest of them followed; the rebel hauled the ramp up, slid it into its shell, then snagged a tall pole at the corner and hefted himself onto the bed.

Tarry pressed the middle of the wheel, which had several buttons and glowing lights. Two square objects on stout bases popped up on either side of the front, and harsh yellow light poured from them. He punched several of the buttons, and the wagon lurched into motion. Lapis fought her awe as the thick tires wrapped in chains carried the rescue crew over muddy snow without difficulty. Such a small thing, but it impressed her.

Sanna gave instructions as they rumbled through the increasing snowfall and through the evergreens. They reached the third curve in the road before Drizzle buzzed and leapt to the ground. The wagon stopped, sending the riders tumbling towards the bench, as the khentauree raced into the trees, shattering bushes in his path.

Lapis did not wait for the ramp, but jumped down and ran after him before she lost him in the evening grey. Patch kept her step, Chiddle with them.

Drizzle led them to his four distressed companions, all huddled together in the center of a shelter constructed of thick branches and in various states of slow, with a pony-sized being stiff and unmoving. Chiddle picked that one up, and Lapis helped the one with silver chains crisscrossing their torso to stand. Once the rest of them arrived, they wrapped arms around the other three and provided support as they stumbled and wobbled through the deepening dark to the wagon. Khentauree buzzing surrounded them, a vigorous conversation.

“Shit,” Patch gritted. Lapis looked at him, then in the direction he stared; a bird, difficult to see through the cover of needle-laden branches, though the orange beam striking the ground below it was obvious.

“A bird?” Lorcan asked, disgusted. “Haven’t seen one up here in a while. I doubt whoever sent it out is getting much in the way of readings. Comm devices have problems here unless modded.”

A guard unslung her weapon and stepped to the side, sighting. A short beam of red light tore through the metal and an explosion ricocheted through the air. The tech broke branches on its way to the ground, where it landed in a plume of black smoke. Patch accompanied her to retrieve it as the rest of them got the khentauree to the wagon.

Tarry had turned the vehicle around and deployed the ramp. Visibility worsened as darker evening storm shadows lengthened, and the Abastions clicked on handheld lights to illuminate the ramp and the bed so everyone could get on board safely. Patch and the bird shooter arrived, carrying the black barrel between them. Unlike the versions that sprayed the anti-sick spray into the Pit, this one had multiple protrusions with glass ends and two screens. Did Jhor know what the modifications were for? His concern lay with the khentauree; he did not even glance at the object as he spoke with the mechanical beings, Sanna as translator.

They hauled it up the ramp, Lorcan slid it back into place, and they took off.

Enough snow had fallen during the rescue that the road became indistinguishable from the bare forest floor surrounding it but for the muddy tire treads already filling with white flakes. Lapis gripped the flake-dusted bed and hoped a jostle did not send her into the growing drifts as the driver increased speed.

“Well, if we weren’t sure about the Meergevens being here, we are now,” Patch said. The guard shined her light on the barrel as he rolled it over and tapped at a drippy white circle with the word ‘Anquerette’ written in the middle.

“Do you think that’s flying for Bov Caardinva or the markweza?” Lapis asked.

“Probably Caardinva, considering the other info we have.”

“What’s Anquerette?” Lorcan asked.

“That’s the name the Meergevens were using for their enterprise at Ambercaast,” Patch said.

“Anquerette,” Sanna said, furious dislike in her tone. The Abastions looked startled at the reaction, a reminder that they needed to adjust to the mechanical beings and their emotional responses.

They reached the hangar as the combination of darkness and fog made visibility next to nil; the front wall slid down and Tarry drove them onto the platform as a shower of loose snow whisked past, granting them a last burst of cold before heat collided with them.

The bustle surrounding the khentauree did not need Lapis; Jhor directed his sharp commands at the people who lived there and knew where to find the things he needed. She returned the grey coat and gloves, and rubbed her chilled fingers against her aching chest. Despite the added protection, she still felt frozen. She touched the back of her hand to her nose and cheeks, and winced at the cold hovering around them.

Patch hung up the coat he used, then snagged her hands and chaffed heat into them. “Come on,” he said. “We need to help Vory get the bird to a workroom.”

Lapis did nothing; the other two carted the heavy metal tech to a room with several people cleaning up white tables and preparing to leave for the night. The guard selected a table, Patch set the bird on top, and they both dusted their hands together.

A woman hustled over, glancing at the thing. “A bird? Those don’t work well up here.”

“Good thing whoever deployed it doesn’t know that,” Patch said. She grinned and nodded.

Vory smiled, lingering cold making her cheeks look too red. “We’ll keep you updated. I don’t think you’ve eaten yet, so go get some food in you. After being out in the cold, a warm meal’s a wondrous thing.”

They took the hint to vacate, heading back to the commons room after the guard pointed them in the right direction. They rounded a corner before Patch’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her into his side.

“You know, you don’t have to yell at them,” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. What are you going to say? They already know what they did was wrong, and I’m betting they have a ton of excuses as to why they have to stay.”

“They don’t have a choice,” she muttered. “The Swifts can’t take off because of the storm, so they’re stuck here like we are.” For three or so days, anyway. When the Minq returned to Jilvayna, she would march them to the Swift and make certain they stayed seated until the doors closed.

“So don’t give them what they expect.”

She mulled over the suggestion, slowing her step. “Why?”

“It will unbalance them.”

“Really.”

“And you know why Rin’s here.”

“Because he got away with it the last time.”

“No, it’s because he sees himself as your protector, especially after the poisoning. He’s terrified that something’s going to happen to you, like it did to Chinder, and he won’t be there to help. His presence won’t stop bad things, but I think he’s convinced himself it might.”

“So he’s a good luck charm?” She sucked in a breath and let it trickle from her lips. “I was thinking of telling Faelan. He’s good at guilt trips.”

“Cruel,” Patch said. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned and smacked a kiss against her head. “Accurate, but cruel.”

She folded her chilled fingers over his and buried her cheek against his shoulder. “I don’t want them to think of rebels as a viable lifestyle,” she whispered. “But they know so many, and they don’t realize what someone as corrupt as Baldur can do to them.”

“Faelan’s cleaned those asses out, Lanth. We’re not just talking about Jiy, either. He cut off leaders from around Jilvayna, and yeah, they’re pissed. But what are they going to do? He made sure they have enough incentive not to whine to the crown about it, and they know they’re being watched, in case they renege on it. Jetta’s already made an example of three of them.”

“Example?”

“Not pretty, but they’re not dead. They wanted to get nasty, she destroyed their reputations because they used the rebellion as a front to their illegal shit. If they don’t want to end up on the wrong side of a jail cell or worse, they know they have to keep their mouths shut.”

“Like I said, the rebellion isn’t the heroic enterprise they promote.”

“Maybe, but neither is our enemy.”

She had the scars to prove that.

She pondered Patch’s suggestion. She hated ignoring the stupidity of it all, but he had a point about Rin. She knew his deep-seated fear concerning loss, and that drove him into acts he normally would never contemplate. Not just for her, either. He cared for the reading circle and the Lells’ rats, and perhaps they did not have the close relationship she and he possessed, but he saw himself as a leader and they saw him as a protector. The younger lot looked up to and listened to him and came to him for help. The lack of rat pickpockets during the Fools and Ghouls celebration proved their devotion.

So why had Scand accompanied him?

The two sat with Brander, Mairin and Linz at the tables, the older rebels eyeing them with skeptical amusement. Someone had found warmer clothing for the two, and they ate steaming food in bundled splendor. Linz glanced at them, and the two rats looked over before stopping, lowering their silverware, preparing for her to yell.

“Did you choose a room?” she asked in a soft, steady voice, jerking her chin at the screens.

“Yeah,” Rin said, wary.

“Good. Where’d you get the food?”

“’Cross the hall,” he replied, his suspicion growing.

She pivoted, heading for a warm meal.

“You’re not going to yell?” Scand asked, confused.

She peered over her shoulder and hoped she produced as smug a smile as she thought. “No. Faelan might, though.”

“Uh-oh,” Rin said, as worried as she had ever heard him, and Linz broke into gales of laughter while Mairin clamped her hands over her mouth. Tamping down on the well of snickers pounding against her lips and wanting out, she slipped her arm through Patch’s, and they proceeded on dinner.