M'yu's eyes snapped open. Embers glowed in the hearth, and the grey light of pre-dawn streamed past the curtains and onto him wrapped up in his comforter. A scream came again, followed by a high-pitched sob. Ashya.

M'yu jumped up, the floors icy against his bare feet. Nabbing his knife from a drawer, he took off up the hall, then down the stairs. Glass shattered, and he doubled his pace, careful to stay to the quiet edge of the steps.

Three figures wavered in the half-light of the entry hall, and M'yu craned his neck over the banister to get a better look.

"You can't go!" Ashya wailed, bent in half on a settee. Bits of glass and water shimmered around her feet, and a broken goblet lay askew.

"Sweetheart," a tall figure sighed, hand pressed to his face. M'yu relaxed. It was just Aevryn.

"I'll go get the broom, milord," Evriss murmured and shuffled away.

Aevryn stepped closer to her, shoe crunching against the glass. "I'll only be gone a few—"

"No!" she screamed, pushing up.

Aevryn swept her into his arms like she was a child, barely keeping her from stepping on the broken glass. She pounded a fist into his chest, and he whispered into her hair until she calmed, face buried into his neck. Through it all, M'yu clung to the bannister, sure he was intruding but unable to move. Evriss came back to clean the glass away, and Aevryn stepped out of the mess, still holding his daughter.

She pulled back, face streaming with tears. Her words came out choked. "Bad things always happen when you leave."

"Shush, shush..." He stroked her hair and carried her toward the living room. "No one's going to hurt you."

"It always hurts," she whispered.

Aevryn's steps faltered. M'yu's nails dug into the wood. Pulling her closer to him, Aevryn pushed into the living room, and the door swung shut behind him.

M'yu padded down to the entry hall as Evriss rose, dustpan in hand. "Aevryn's leaving?" M'yu asked.

The old man sighed. "It seems the whole house is awake at the wrong hour tonight."

"He was going to leave without saying anything?"

"To avoid upsetting Ashya," he assured. He dumped the broken glass into a small trash can. "Not that it worked, poor child."

A door squeaked, and M'yu looked over his shoulder as Aevryn slipped out of the living room. He stopped short. "M'yu."

"You're leaving?"

"I have business in the Gloam. Your business," he said, eyeing M'yu sharply, "and I don't particularly feel like arguing tonight, so." He straightened his suit jacket, darker where Ashya had cried into his shoulder. He avoided M'yu's eye as he strode across the room and picked up his briefcase. "Evriss will look after you, and I've acquired one of the ministry's hovers, so you'll have mine as usual. You'll be fine."

M'yu's mouth opened, but before he could form a word, Aevryn opened the door and left.

M'yu ran after him, hanging onto the frame as he threw the door open. Snow blistered his face as he stood on the border between winter and shelter. "What about my trial?"

"I'll be back before then," Aevryn called over his shoulder. "And I can't help you with your part of it anyway." The door to the government hover opened, and it took him away.

* * *

The next day, M'yu found Sviya in the library in her window seat. She scowled. "What do you want?"

He drew in a deep breath. "I need your help."

She scoffed. "Oh? Now you do? Well, since you seem to have disappeared for the last month, I think I'll pass. Go get Ruslan."

"I wasn't avoiding you."

"Like rot you weren't!"

M'yu's nose crinkled. "Did you just curse?"

"I'll curse if I capping well like it!"

M'yu laughed at her.

She huffed. "You're not helping your case any."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just..." He straightened. "The words don't look right coming out of your painted lips. You're going to have to wipe off a bit of that makeup if you want to pass as a street kid."

"Who said I wanted to pass as anything?" She straightened, chin tipped up. "Do Gloamers have the corner on being blunt? Are Capital citizens the only ones who can be refined?" She looked him up and down. "If so, I believe you've overstayed your welcome."

M'yu sobered. "You're—" He nodded and turned away, trying to hide the shame in his cheeks. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Sorry enough to blush?"

"Well—" The tips of his ears warmed. He forced himself to face her and drew short. What he'd thought was mockery looked instead suspiciously like... approval? She regarded him, head tilted, eyebrows raised in that soft, imperial way of hers.

He cleared his throat. "You're right. Where you come from shouldn't dictate who you have to be. I never should have forgotten that."

"No." She sniffed. "You shouldn't have." She pouted imperiously, nose tipped up, gaze out the window. 

M'yu's hands found his pockets and a smile crept to his lips. "What do I need to do to make it up to you, Sviya?"

Her shoulder rolled lightly. "I don't need any gifts from you."

"Well you want something from me or else you would have told me to leave," he teased.

"Perhaps I will."

He rolled his eyes. "What do I have to do, Svi? Bow and scrape at your feet?"

"You could try. It might be entertaining."

"And here I thought you weren't interested in being a Cap snot."

"I'm interested in being myself."

"Well, then." M'yu stepped up and took her hand, then swept into an exaggerated bow. In his best Rightspeak, he drawled, "My humblest apologies, Miss Sviya Tam. May I live a hundred years and ever be in your debt."

Now it was her turn to blush. Her skin blossomed pink from the sweeps of her cheeks to the tip of her nose. "Do you take me for a fool, Mykta z'Daras?"

"A friend, I'd hoped, but never a fool."

"Tell me," she said, drawing her hand out of his, "do you make eyes at all your friends?"

M'yu's jaw dropped. "I'm not making eyes at you."

"You did at my uncle's dinner."

"I did not!"

"You thought that because you'd rushed into some burning building, you deserved for me to go all weak at the knees. Don't tell me you didn't."

"I thought," M'yu emphasized, "that it would be nice to have someone in my corner. And it'd be really nice right now too."

She turned away again, head tilted up. "Perhaps you should have thought about that before you disrespected my invitation to the Houseless table."

"Well," M'yu said, half-stepping away, "what if you took my invitation to the Gold Table?"

Her head snapped toward him. "That is not done." There was a glimmer in her eyes, though, that said she wished it could be. The Gold Table had the best position in the house, much more prominent than the Houseless table squished into the corner of the cafeteria.

"And why not? You're the belle of the school wherever you go. Why not be the belle in the middle of everything?"

Her nose crinkled. "You're playing the manipulator."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But I'm also offering a gift. And an olive branch. Whether you take it or not is up to you. Either way, the invitation is out there. And it's out to any of your other friends too. They can all come sit at the Gold Table with me. Honored guests."

Her eyes narrowed. "There's a war coming, isn't there?"

He laughed, but it was short and sad. "Sviya, there's been a war on for a long time. Some of these folks here just haven't realized it."

She turned toward him, away from her window seat. "You're not talking about the students."

"No." He shook his head. "I'm not talking about the students."

Her lips pressed together as she evaluated him. "Whatever you're doing... is it going to stick it to my uncle?"

"That's up to Aevryn."

"Oh, good! He hates my uncle." She hopped up. "Come on now. If we're going to be friends, you might as well follow me around and carry my books."

* * *

At tomorrow's lunch, Sviya brought M'yu a whole table full of people, and he fought the instinct to put his back to a wall. Instead, he let them surround them, his shoulders loose, his smile open. The Gold Table had gone from being a place of solitude to the center of a glittering court. People flocked around Sviya and the spectacle she was wearing. Her dress was almost as wide as she was tall, yet she somehow walked with the grace of a cat burglar along a rooftop.

She may have been the star of the table, but it gave him the opportunity he needed, and plenty of it. He cut up, complimented, and commiserated with the best of them. It reminded him of running his gang of homeless kids—always keeping the peace, always boosting spirits. People were easy to sway if you got them in the right mood, and he had gone all out for lunch today. M'yu had begged Evriss to prepare him enough sweetcakes to offer anyone who joined, and the result was a sticky-fingered, smiling crowd.

The only problem was the glares of the wolves at the other tables.

A few people drifted over from other tables, fishing for an invitation, which M'yu always gave. This seemed to only intensify the jealousy of the other Houses, though, and M'yu sensed a storm brewing, especially from the Mercury Table. He tried to avoid Ruslan's eye, focusing on the people at his place, but at one stray glance, their eyes locked. You're dead, the boy mouthed.

Someone tapped M'yu on the shoulder. He tore his gaze away and put back on his smiling mask.

As lunch broke up, he moved to follow Sviya, but she ran off with a gaggle of girls toward the bathrooms. He called after her, but it was too late. She disappeared past the door.

The halls were getting thinner, and he tried to attach himself to another group, but his popularity seemed to be running thin now that he had no fancy table to offer, or sweetcakes, or Sviya. Worse than the students that ignored him, though, were the ones that muttered as he passed, nudging each other, nodding. Perhaps he was paranoid, but he had seen looks like that before. That was the look streetkids gave each other when they'd spotted a target, a mark that someone else wanted off the streets. Get a good long last look, that look said. And figure out how to never end up like that guy.

Swallowing thickly, M'yu ducked into a classroom. Maybe he could wait here until the halls cleared more, then make it to class on his own. It couldn't be half so bad as being dogged and waiting for someone to jump him.

No one's going to jump you, he reminded himself. Not out in the open.

And then he looked around, realizing his mistake. The hallways, that place that felt so exposed, that was the only place that was actually safe. Because that was the only place that had cameras.

M'yu hurried to push out of the room just as Ruslan pushed in. The door hit M'yu in the nose, and he stumbled back, eyes watering.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ruslan said, door clicking shut behind him. "I didn't see you there. I suppose my eyes were a bit dazzled by your brilliant display in the cafeteria," he hissed.

"I don't want to fight with you, Ruslan."

"Who says we're going to fight?" he laughed. "Oh, no, no, no. You're going to lay down and bleed. Because last I heard, you had a big trial coming up. I'd just hate if it came out you were abusing the poor kid who was just trying to help you."

"And who's going to believe that rot?"

"The AI when it sees all the bruises you landed on me. If we're fighting, that is. Or—" Ruslan pushed his sleeves up. "We can make this peaceful. You get what you deserve, and I leave you here to lick your wounds."

M'yu moved at an angle, putting a desk between him and Ruslan. "We don't have to do this."

He scoffed. "You started this. You're not getting out of it now."

"All I wanted was to make some friends."

"You wanted to cover your tail. You wanted to steal Svi. You, you"—he shook his finger—"you wanted to take everything that was rightfully mine. You think you're so, so special, don't you? Picked up from nowhere by the great Aevryn the Righteous!" Ruslan lunged across the desk, and M'yu dodged too slow. Ruslan's fist grabbed hold of M'yu's shirt and dragged. They came face to face over the desk, M'yu shocked at the weight behind Ruslan's pull.

"You're not the only one who's been training," the boy hissed, then slammed M'yu's face down into the desk.

M'yu tore away and stumbled back, nose streaming blood. Ruslan jumped around the desk after him. Eyes blurred, M'yu didn't see the punch coming until it slammed into his ribs. He doubled over, and Ruslan pushed him into the concrete.

M'yu rolled beneath a desk, but Ruslan grabbed his feet and dragged him out. "How are you ever going to compete in Washfall if you can't even manage to face your opponent?" he sneered.

M'yu kicked out on instinct, then pulled back at the last second. He couldn't; if he landed a single blow on this boy, his whole case could fall apart. He was just the dangerous street thief they all saw him as already, the murderer from the Gloam, the monster they feared.

Ruslan took the opening and came down on top of M'yu, pummeling his face with both fists. M'yu pulled one arm up, then two, desperately trying to block.

"You," Ruslan said between swings, "Think. You're. So great!" A resounding punch landed on M'yu's ribs, and he called out. "You think you're special because Aevryn picked you up?" Another punch came at his head; M'yu dodged, and Ruslan clipped his ear instead, setting it ringing. "Well I've got news for you." Ruslan shoved off, kicking M'yu in the side as he rose. M'yu groaned. "He picked me first!"

M'yu squinted at him through swollen eyes. "What?"

"Oh, he didn't tell you that?" Ruslan sneered. "Ask him. Ask him if I wasn't his apprentice first before he threw me out on the streets, no one in the world to turn to. Ask him."

The world went cold. M'yu scrabbled at the ground, pushing back, up, trying to make the world stand still while his head spun. Ruslan stood there, shoulders heaving, as M'yu pushed his back against a desk and stared. This boy, this dumb, dangerous, attention-seeking bully—

Aevryn had him first. Before Dymtrus. Before M'yu even showed up. A drop of blood fell in M'yu's eye and swirled his vision red. In one blink, Ruslan looked like a dog ready to charge; in another, he looked like a pup backed into a corner. "You're a street kid?" M'yu murmured.

Ruslan surged forward and grabbed a fistful of M'yu's shirt. "I am a House member," he said, teeth gritted. "But I guess we can't expect a snipe like you to understand that."

A wide punch knocked M'yu's back to the ground, cheek pressed against the stone.

"You don't understand anything really. Goodness, you're so"—a foot rammed into the back of his head—"blind." Ruslan hovered down over him, blurred into two sneering faces. "Do you even know you're his sacrifice?"

M'yu blinked, trying to restore his vision.

"Of course you don't." Ruslan leaned in closer, voice hot against M'yu's ear. "You're going to die in the Trial. And Aevryn is going to win."

"No," M'yu moaned, head spinning.

"You should have stayed in the Gloam." Ruslan's shiny black shoes walked around the legs of desks, past the feet of chairs, toward the bottom of the door.

Blood trickled from M'yu's lip. His ears rang. The door opened, light spilling into the half-dark classroom. And then the light was gone.

M'yu shivered in the gloom, warm blood trailing across his face. Aevryn threw him out. Aevryn threw him to Dymtrus. Aevryn gave him a home. Then he abandoned him.

M'yu's head spun as he pushed up. Aevryn was just like any leader on the streets, parceling out the information that would make people dance and keeping a tight fist on the rest. M'yu stood, world tilting. He grabbed onto a desk, caught his breath. The world came into focus.

Aevryn was a politician. Aevryn was a Cap. Aevryn was a liar.

M'yu pushed out of the empty classroom into now-empty halls. Head down, he staggered past the Honorable Offices and out into the cold. Aevryn's hover wouldn't be here to pick him up until school let out. And Aevryn, down in the Gloam, wouldn't be here for who knows how long. It would be long enough.

After buttoning his coat and pulling the hood over his swollen face, M'yu pushed off, walking along the snowy streets. He had the paths memorized a long time ago; if Aevryn didn't want him walking around, he really should have stopped showing him the hover's map. M'yu's head pounded with each step, and his breaths lanced through his side, but his feet pressed against the pavement. Half-dazed, he made the turns mechanically. He stopped, almost shocked, when he finally made it to the Gold House gate.

Then his legs gave way.

He gasped as his ribs hit the ground and hissed a breath out between his teeth. Black danced at his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his breaths. The snow soothed his face. The wind ruffled his hair.

The gate creaked open. Someone clucked their tongue, and a second coat draped over him. "Master Mykta, what happened to you?"

M'yu blinked up at the old caretaker, then pushed himself up on one shaking arm. "Sorry, Evriss," he murmured past his split lip.

Evriss pointed a finger at him. "You stay there." He called back to the house, and a couple servants hurried out.

"I'm fine, really," M'yu muttered as they helped him to his feet.

"Quiet now." Evriss shook his head, hobbling back into the house in front of them. "You're just like the master."

An icy blade stabbed M'yu's chest. He bit his lip and swallowed hard. He was nothing like Aevryn.

He let them bundle him into the house. Evriss called to the maids for bandages as they sat him on the couch. The warmth of the hearth washed over him, and he closed his eyes, head tilted back on the cushions.

"I'm fine, really," he muttered again, just as he fell asleep.