“It’s your own fault.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m surprised Cassa’s not sick.”

“I’m not sick! Just a little queasy.”

“You ate enough sweets to kill a cow.”

“And you drank enough wake juice to kill two. Have you slept yet?”

Patch pursed his lips, squinted at her, and refused to answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Lapis grumbled.

She was not the only one who stuffed themselves silly on pastries and cakes. Cassa had looked a little green, and Rin . . . Lyet said she refused to hold his hair while he puked.

She ended up holding Scand’s instead.

And that was when Granna Cup took charge and made certain every rat had at least one healthy dish. Had they ever encountered a grandmotherly figure like her? Maybe; Maydie and Movique aided her efforts, and by their stern countenances, they expected obedience.

Ghost said they impressed him with their mettle. A mischief of rats was difficult to herd.

She plumped her pillows and scooted over to press her chilly body against her partner’s warm one. Despite the cool air, he leaned against the headboard, book in hand, in his short-shorts, radiating heat as if he were the sun. The fireplace in the sitting room did not chug enough to keep the bedroom cozy, so she relied on him to make her comfy.

He slipped his arm around her, and she switched from pillows to his chest. She glanced at the paperback, a gritty detective story by a prolific Hestora writer, then snuggled down, content. He pressed his lips against her hair and left them there.

“Yesterday wasn’t the time, but I need to talk to you about Nerik.”

“OK.” He nuzzled the top of her head, lowered the book, and waited.

“He told me he understood my pain because the palace killed his parents, too.”

Patch sighed through his nose with sympathetic pain. “Poor kid.”

“Yeah. His aunt and uncle had an argument with his dad, and the next day the soldiers showed up and arrested his family. He said he ran away, but his parents and his older brother died. The palace gave his aunt and uncle the family business.”

The angry rumble began deep in his chest. “Does he know who they are?”

“Probably. He didn’t tell me their names, but he said his parents were Sanner and Bess Flock. He said the last name came from his dad raising a lot of chickens.”

“That should be enough.”

She smiled. “Good. If it’s not, I might be able to get a bit more out of him when I take him to the rebel memorial outside town.” She lifted her head. “And what do you want as payment?”

His anger drained away into a wide, satisfied smile. “I get to choose?” He tossed his book towards the nightstand; it struck the edge and tumbled to the floor. Before she protested his terrible treatment of the precious item, his fingers danced up her side and he captured her lips. She sank into his embrace, heat finally catching her as he nipped and sucked her skin.

She would pick up the book. Later.

Sated but starving, Lapis followed Patch to the dining room, uncertainty trailing her. She still worried about how to make it up to Faelan, Uncle Rodas, Midir and Varr, how to respond to those still eager to share their pain with her because they heard a reflection of their own in her voice, how to yank her feelings into something resembling order.

Everyone now knew about her past. She blurted it out, no longer able to hold the secret, and she wondered when it might come back and bite her.

She rounded the corner, and stared at the generous spread, smelled the fried meat, the fresh bread, the honey, and did not slow her enthusiastic gulping. Before anyone cornered her about the previous day—and by the looks from the rebels, many had questions—she scampered to the basement and peeked into the tech room.

If they wanted answers, they could poke Patch about them.

Chiddle and LX70 faced each other, unmoving, cyan and blue lights racing down invisible paths crisscrossing their heads. Unwilling to interfere in an argument, she crept inside and padded to Tuft without bothering them.

Slipping her hand beneath his, she lifted it and laid her other one over the top. Still cold metal, still no movement. She glanced at the quarreling khentauree, then the heads; she had wanted to tell him about the previous day, but the words refused to leave her mouth. Too many others sat in the room, and she did not trust them.

“You should exchange heads,” LX70 said, her buzzy tone deep and disapproving. She flipped her hand at Tuft. “These khentauree deserve a chassis. That one is no longer useful—”

“He hasn’t gone to silence.”

All buzzing ceased at her declaration. Lapis glared at the khentauree, trembling so hard she put Tuft’s hand down so she did not drop it. “He’s still there. Ghost says so. Sanna says so. Khentauree deserve chassis, yes, but not at the cost of another.”

“He is empty.”

“He is not.”

“Humans rarely accept empty. They believe all must be filled. But he is empty.”

“That is enough,” Chiddle snapped, his voice cracking.

“Respect the dead khentauree and give his chassis to another.”

Chill filled her. She trusted Ghost and Sanna not to lie to her, and if they said Tuft was still in there, he was still in there. She refused to believe anything else.

“We have told you that we will find you chassis,” Chiddle buzzed, a dark warning in his tone. “We have told you that we will help connect you and make certain all works together. This trust will break, if you harm Tuft.”

“There is no one to harm.” LX70 leapt to the side and lunged past Chiddle, reaching for Tuft’s head.

Lapis shoved herself between them. “MEKOT!”

The khentauree rammed her, sending her onto Tuft’s chassis. They slid into the wall with a thump, not as hard as she expected.

Chiddle grabbed the khentauree’s leg and yanked her off her hooves. An angry buzz left her as he heaved her over the worktable in the center of the room and threw; she slammed into the opposite wall and crashed to the ground in a flail of arms and legs.

She leapt up, lights flashing; Lapis slid to the floor and covered her eyes, unable to see.

“LX70 MEKOT. MEVOTO DEES.”

The lights disappeared. She peeked between her fingers; LX70 froze, bowed her head, knelt, laid her hands on her front knees, and her buzzing ceased.

Ghost stepped into the room and regarded the khentauree, his sprites whirling around his torso fast enough, their breeze ruffled her hair. Guards looked inside, weapons in hand, and the khentauree swiveled his head to them. “I will see to them,” he said.

They lowered their weapons, but suspicion trailed them as they checked on her. She nodded, and they acknowledged her before leaving. She did not blame them for the caution; the mechanical beings were military agents, and they had no way to tell what might trigger their battle programming.

Ghost eyed the heads one by one as his sprites disappeared. “It is time to return to Ambercaast,” he announced.

“You will not give them our chassis,” Chiddle said, heat frying his voice.

“No. They are not theirs to take. But LX70 is correct, they need bodies.” His head swiveled to Lapis. “You are unharmed.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Dammit, her voice trembled, belying her confidence. She tried to relax, but her shoulders remained stiff, a terrible reaction if she had to fight. Maybe she needed to wear her gauntlets when she visited the room; LX70 could move fast, but so could the purple beams, and she knew, from experience, they cut metal without mercy.

“We will leave Tuft here. I do not trust LX70 near him. She does not understand the special khentauree, and we must not interfere with him.”

Lapis nodded, relieved that the medic would not have easy access to him, uncertain about her ability to care for him. It felt crass, to leave him on a cold table in a cold room while he worked through whatever he needed to, but since Sanna put him there, that is where he stayed. “The rail platforms are ready?” she asked.

“Yes. We will settle the khentauree at Ambercaast, then someone will return. I do not wish Path to carry our burdens by herself.” He knelt on one front knee and pressed the side of LX70’s head. A panel popped out, revealing an interior cluster of wires, tubes, and metal plates. The heads buzzed, anger flavoring the air.

“Ghost,” Chiddle warned.

“She must earn my grace,” he said. “She swore to the oaths, but she thought I am easily swayed and weak and unable to check her. She thought wrong.” He withdrew something from her head and the buzzing increased. He swiveled to eye each of the other khentauree in turn; one by one, they fell silent.

“She is not Ambercaast khentauree,” Chiddle said.

“She is now.” Ghost clicked the panel shut; the skin melded over the slits, hiding the lines from view. “She agreed.”

“She did not agree to this.”

“She agreed not to overstep the boundaries I placed upon her, but ignored them and proved herself a danger.” He rose, his hooves clacking eerily in the quiet. “My foremost thoughts are for Ambercaast khentauree.” He swung his hand wide. “If any of you think to harm them, I will send you to silence.”

“We do not trust foreign khentauree.” Lapis recognized ENZ’s voice and hunted for their head placed among the many others.

“You trusted us enough to flee from your captors with us,” Ghost said. “You trusted us enough to tell us Torc Decambraa is rich in chassis and khentauree parts. We will help, but not if you choose destruction.”

The beings erupted into a cacophony of whirring and clicking. A weight descended, the lighting dimmed, and Lapis fought not to crumble beneath it. She slapped the top of the table to keep herself upright as the heads, one by one, shut down, some mid-buzz. Once the final one slumbered, the heavy atmosphere lightened, floated away, and she sucked in a free breath.

“You antagonize them,” Chiddle fretted.

“Yes, but they antagonized me first. They pledged, and I took that seriously. They now know how seriously.”

“What did they pledge?” Lapis asked, pulling herself to her feet. She needed to check Tuft to make sure bumping him caused no adverse effect. Too bad her legs quaked with the effort.

“They are military khentauree. They are violent and unpredictable even with humans dictating their actions. I told them, if they wished our help, they will pledge not to harm any who live within Ambercaast—the khentauree, the terrons, the workstation humans—and that they will not harm those we consider allies and friends outside it. If they dislike something, they will speak to us and we will care for matters. Not all wanted to agree, but for the chance to regain a chassis, they did anyway.”

“What keeps them to this pledge?” she asked as she reached for Tuft’s arm; he slid against the wall, and Sanna precisely set him in the center of the table, not propped up against a support.

“Their word.” A laugh erupted from him, one that sent the hair on the back of her neck prickling. Chiddle glanced at him, then trotted over to her, and between them, they repositioned the icy khentauree and rearranged him so his hands rested near his chest. “But as we see, their word is not so reliable. It is why we must return to Ambercaast. I will not cage, but the mines, surrounded by snow and freezing temperatures, will keep them inside until I can gain their trust.”

“If you can,” Chiddle muttered.

“We have goodwill and good intent. If humans help us find Torc Decambraa, if humans bring the chassis, they will see the goodwill and good intent in our allies as well. And I will speak to Jhor about deprogramming.”

“Deprogramming?” Lapis asked, patting Tuft’s hands before pulling away.

“All khentauree have military code. Jhor created a program with Sanna that deactivates it, then deletes it. There are still parts that must remain, or we would not function, but the code makes for less violent khentauree who will not default to kill. That is best for all, them and us.”

“What if they don’t want it?”

“It is part of their pledge to install it. In truth, khentauree do not like the default behavior. It leads to senseless injury and silence.”

“What can I do to help?”

Ghost laughed—and his laugh was warm and very human. “We knew you would ask,” he told her. “I would like to discover where Torc Decambraa is. The heads say there are many chassis and parts there, but the enemy must have looted them by now. Still, there may be useful information within.”

“Do you think the enemy took that as well?”

“It is a possibility,” Chiddle said. “Those who stole the heads know enough of us to break their homing devices, but the damage done to the necks says unskilled hands ripped them apart. There may be a way to reactivate the signal, but we must test and see.”

“Midir, too, is interested in the torcs.” Ghost set the item he took from LX70 in a box Jhor used for delicate components. “We must discover where the military khentauree from Bedan travel to.”

Lapis rubbed at her lower lip. “Meinrad and Rambart told us that khentauree were spotted around Grisdem, a village in the countryside near Coriy. My uncle’s there, and he’s a scholar with friends in the local historical society. If I check out Grisdem, I can stop by and see if he has any suggestions about histories we could study.”

Her heart twittered at the thought. She had called Coriy home for three years, but thinking about returning to the second-largest city in Jilvayna triggered memories of her childhood and the devastating events that destroyed it. She did not want to go anywhere near it.

Patch understood her reluctance and never asked her to accompany him back. How did he manage to live in Jiy, considering the city was his home for sixteen years before his family betrayed him to the throne?

“Yes. Sanna read through the reports,” Ghost said. “There is much strangeness, and our blindfolds are too tight to remove.”

“You sound like Vision,” Chiddle grumbled.

“I think speaking with her would be a good idea.” Ghost eyed LX70. “Stay, Chiddle. I do not trust that they will remain silent long. I will speak with Faelan and we will transfer them to the platforms.”

“Get the rats to help,” Lapis said. “We’ll pay them a few bits and it’ll go faster.”

“I will send for Gabby, and she will tell others. But perhaps not Rin. Or Scand. They eat like children, and they suffer like children.” He patted his tummy.

Chiddle nodded sagely in agreement, and Lapis smiled, stuffing the words away to use at the most inopportune time.