M'yu's knees dissolved and cracked against the metal floor.

"I see the accused recognizes the next witness then?" Xten asked. 

A guard escorted his mother across the court. Her normally frizzy hair was neatly plaited back. Her skirt fell in crisp lines around her ankles. A dab of makeup brightened her red-eyed face. She looked like the snot-nosed woman who ran the glassed-in bakery down from their street. The woman was just as much a Gloamer as the rest of them, but since the Caps graced her door to pay for her bread and humble dresses and plain lipstick, she thought she was a cut above the folks who worked in the fields. His mother wouldn't meet his eye.

"Get up," Aevryn hissed.

"Witness, please state your name," Xten called.

Her hands were clamped so tightly in front of her that her knuckles turned snow-white. Her voice came out with a tremor. "Ele Dess."

"And what is your relation to the boy in front of you?"

"He was one of the boys I raised."

You stand up for the innocent, his uncle had said. He had thought his mother would stand up for him—against the Caps, at least. If not against their neighbors, at least against the Caps. But M'yu wasn't innocent. And M'yu wasn't hers. He was a kid she found in the dumpster. He was a boy she raised. M'yu staggered to his feet. She didn't owe him anything. He wiped back a cold sweat, trying to even his breath.

Whatever he got, he deserved.

"And do you know who killed Vestir M'raci?"

Karsya put a hand on his mother's shoulder, like Karsya was any daughter of hers. Karsya didn't care about anything but herself. His mother trembled. For the first time, she looked up at M'yu.

Her hair used to smell like flour. Her laugh had sounded like the wind rattling the icicles outside their house. She used to tell him fairy tales, stories of boys who rose above and saved their family, their village, their world. She used to pull him into her lap and rest her chin on his head. Someday, you won't be here anymore. The world will find out where you belong, and you won't have to be here anymore.

But maybe it'd been her saving the world all along. She'd rescued him from the trash, and Karsya from the Magnate, and all the rest from the streets. Maybe it was her turn for the world to find out where she belonged. She shouldn't have to scrounge and scrape in the dust to feed half a dozen mouths. He hoped the Caps made her the bakery lady; he hoped the Caps made her better than the bakery lady.

He hoped she got everything she'd ever wanted.

He nodded at her, a subtle, somber twitch of his head. It's okay, Mom. He bit his lip, this time not to push back the memories of her shoving his things into his hands, of telling him to run, but to remember them. He looked at them in his mind and at her with his eyes, and he nodded again. It's okay. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, but it didn't have to be. It's okay.

Her hand trembled at her side. Her lips quivered up in that familiar way when she would lie that everything was going to be all right. He smiled back at her, his lips tight. For just a moment, they were in their home, alone, and even though they knew the world was broken, they didn't worry. They didn't have to.

Tears glimmered in her eyes. She looked up at the Tsaright. "No, my lord. I don't know who killed Mister M'raci."

Xten drew back. "You don't?"

"No, my lord."

"Miss R'vel says that your whole neighborhood witnessed the crime, that it happened in your house. Are you sure you don't know who murdered him?"

M'yu's eyes watered, and his jaw hung askew. Aevryn elbowed him. He shut his mouth and swallowed.

"I would know, sir, if something terrible happened in my home. It didn't."

The crowd murmured to each other in waves of incredulity and confusion. Xten banged his scepter five times before they quieted down. "A recess!" he called. "We will readjourn in two minutes." And he swept off behind his throne.

A hand swiped for M'yu's arm, and he dodged on reflex. He stepped back into Aevryn's chest and ended up facing the guard who had escorted him to the ring. Aevryn set his hands on either side of M'yu's shoulders. "My charge has the right to remain in the ring for the recess," he said, eyeing the man. The guard scowled and stepped back. In the stands, a handful of people trickled down to the exits.

M'yu spun to Aevryn and lowered his voice. "Could we really win this?"

"It's hard to say. Many of the Knights are in the Tsaright's pocket." Aevryn glanced around. "But Miss Dess standing up for you makes a fairly compelling argument."

M'yu ran his cuffed hands through his hair. "I can't believe it."

"Don't. Not yet."

"Aevryn—"

Aevryn held up a hand. "Nothing that can't be overheard." His eyes roamed over M'yu. "The hyperheal unit looks like it did its job."

"I guess so."

"You'll be fine, boy." Aevryn held his eye, heavy with meaning. "Trust me."

A lump formed in M'yu's throat. "I do, Aevryn. I'm—"

"If that sentence ends in an apology, save it." M'yu shrunk back, but Aevryn's eyes were darting around the chaos in the stands. His face softened when he turned back. More gently, he said, "An apology in court is as good as an admission of guilt."

"We're recessed."

"Listening ears are never recessed." He picked imaginary lint off his sleeve. "You're going to be fine, boy. Just keep your peace."

"But there's something I need to tell—"

Xten swept back into the room, robes flaring as he stood surveying the court.

"Quiet now," Aevryn said, squaring his shoulders and lacing his fingers in front of him.

M'yu swallowed the words. He could tell him about the Signal Cloaker tonight. Tonight when they were home. He drew a steadying breath in through his nose, turned, and copied Aevryn's stance.

From the throne, Xten called out, "Have we all returned?" Rustles filled the room as nobles settled in their seats and turned toward the throne. "Then I shall call for the Knights to approach."

Aevryn frowned as men and women in rich, fur-lined cloaks picked their way down the stands. They lined up in a half-ring on the court directly in front of the Tsaright's balcony. Assembled in ranks shoulder-to-shoulder, the group of fifty barely fit into the ring. The first of them were just feet away from the Tsaright. He sat there above them, scepter laid across his lap, hands folded. When he leaned forward, his voice was quiet and serious. M'yu doubted the whole crowd could hear, but from his spot on the court, each and every fact of the case floated from the Tsaright's mouth to M'yu's ear like a surgeon's knife—well-balanced, professional, pointed. His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on his breathing. Control. He was going home. Deep breath out, deep breath in. Control.

Something tapped on the faintest edge of his senses—a flicker of something that sparked in his chest and set blood thrumming through his veins. His hands clenched and nose wrinkled. He took a step forward, and Aevryn grabbed his wrist. M'yu planted his feet and breathed in deeply.

His heartbeat quickened, spine stiffening. It was like watching his best friend get punched in the face, like seeing the Vulture leer at his mother while everyone else averted their eyes, like Lania dying while the Cap who beat her to death went free. It was wrong; it was evil.

His gaze snapped up to the Tsaright. His face was neutral, open, as he spoke in reasonable tones with one side of his mouth and breathed lies with the other. Fists tight, M'yu stepped back to Aevryn's side and hissed, "He's got witchcandy."

The anger still ran through M'yu's veins, and he breathed out, expelling it like he used to expel his black mist. Xten had no control over him.

Aevryn's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

M'yu's gaze cut back up at the ruler. Xten shouldn't have been able to project the effect this far. Then again, M'yu shouldn't have been able to take any kind of witchcandy and bend it to his will either.

"Yes." He locked eyes with Aevryn.

Aevryn considered him, then nodded. He stepped forward to Speak, and—

Xten called out. "Are your consciences' satisfied?" He was addressing the Knights but also the crowd, cutting off Aevryn's opportunity. The Knights rumbled in agreement. "Then I shall take your vote. Is Mykta z'Daras guilty on the count of stealing?"

Hands slowly went up, and M'yu's eyes flitted over the group, counting. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. Only twenty-three.

A frown flickered at Xten's face before being replaced by his neutral mask. "The majority says no. Let the record show." His scepter banged the floor, and Aevryn squeezed M'yu's shoulder. "Is Mykta z'Daras guilty on the count of murder of a Capital man?"

A black wave washed over M'yu—the emptiness of starvation while rich men threw their food away, laughing at beggars on the street. Dark fantasies of fist fights and financial ruin danced in his eyes before he pushed the pheromones out with another heavy breath. Beside him, Aevryn tensed as though to step out of the circle, and M'yu grabbed his wrist. The man glowered back at M'yu, but softened some as M'yu shook his head in warning and released his wrist.

Hands raised high in the air, each pointing sharp as knives. Taken in by the witchcandy, all of the Knights had raised their hands. Every single one.

The Tsaright pressed his lips together and nodded gravely. "A unanimous yes. This forces me with a heavy decision. Let the record show." He stood, his head down as if deep in thought. M'yu's lip curled, but his stomach did flips inside him. Whatever I get, I deserve, he chanted, nails digging into his skin.

The Tsaright looked up and across the crowd. "It is not an easy decision, but with so much accord, I see little way around it. For murder, the prescribed punishment"—he looked down at the court, meeting M'yu's eye—"is death."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. It was a pond of horror, of surprised amusement, of vindication, of virtuous shock. M'yu quivered, but his knees held firm, and he looked the Tsaright in the eye. Aevryn will beat you one day, he thought, staring at him. Aevryn will beat you and prove you for the coward you are.

The Tsaright's lip curled back, and a spark of victory flared in M'yu's heart, even as his legs buzzed and his hands shook. Aevryn will win.

And then Aevryn stepped around M'yu. "I call upon my Right to Stand!"

The gleeful, hissing crowd hushed. M'yu's heart beat wildly in his chest.

Xten folded his hands atop his scepter, head tilted. "You would take your apprentice's place?" He spoke as if he already knew the answer, a twitch of a smile growing beneath his measured facade. "Think carefully, Aevryn; this cannot be undone."

Head spinning, M'yu reached out for Aevryn's wrist, but Aevryn stepped out of the circle and closer to the throne. "It cannot be undone," Aevryn said, "because it has already been done. I have called my Right to Stand, and I shall have it. The boy goes free."

The crowd shot to its feet, looking half-ready to stampede. The Knights howled injustice. The world titled before M'yu, and he shook his head, trying to regain his balance. Aevryn held his hands out to the guard—M'yu's guard, he was M'yu's guard, he shouldn't be putting hands on Aevryn—and the soldier snapped metal cuffs around Aevryn's wrist. With a click of the guard's linkcard, M'yu's cuffs fell off.

M'yu surged forward, but the guard pushed him back.

"Get out of here!" Aevryn yelled. M'yu took a step forward to follow the guard dragging Aevryn away. From the side, snarling Capital Knights marched toward M'yu and drew their swords. "You're free!" Aevryn yelled. "Go!"

"Here, boy!" Evriss called out behind him. M'yu spun to find Ashya and the butler down in the bottom row, spilling out onto the court with several other nobles.

Ashya waved at him frantically, eyes wide. "Duck!"

M'yu dove to the floor, and air swooshed past his head. A lock of hair fluttered to the ground beside him. He scrambled past the legs of nobles, and popped up, glancing back.

Witchcandy-enraged Knights pursued him, pushing past the civilians. The Prav'sudja guard pulled Aevryn away, back toward the antechamber. Go, Aevryn mouthed—shouted, maybe, but the crowds roared in M'yu's ears, and a Knight howled, "Die!"

M'yu ducked again, and a civilian cried in pain. He dove through the crowds. Weaving toward a door, he kept Ashya and Evriss in the corner of his eye. Evriss stumbled, and his head disappeared beneath the top of the crowd. M'yu's heart leapt in his throat. He elbowed his way toward Ashya as he was pushed along by the current, swept off course, knocked in the head by panicking nobles. He called their names out along with hundreds of other people looking for their loved ones. All the shouts mingled into one discordant mess.

He pushed off someone's shoulders and jumped to catch a glimpse above the crowd's heads. Ashya dragged Evriss to his feet. She pulled his arm around her shoulder. Behind her, a girl in a voluminous black dress did the same. Sviya. She must have escaped the Magnate again.

M'yu's feet hit the ground, almost getting swept out from under him, and he stumbled forward. He jumped again, scanning the crowd for his mother, but he fell before he caught any trace of her. 

"There's the murderer!" one of the Knights screamed.

M'yu scrambled forward. Evriss, Ashya, and Sviya were still on the bottom row of the stands, making for the door. M'yu hurried after them, slipping through the crowd with his head low.

As they washed into the stream of people just at the door's mouth, he reached out for Sviya's hand. Her fingers twined with his, and strung together, the four spilled through. Past the door, the chamber widened out. They ran through the Prav'sudja's halls, ducking puddles of crowds all racing for the exit.

The mouth of the Prav'sudja was chock full of hovers, hundreds parked bumper to bumper. Some nobles had already climbed in and started theirs. The vehicles' magnetism allowed them to climb up and over the top of others. Hovers were rolling out in layers, some three deep, like an army of ants fleeing a fallen hill.

"Where's Aevryn's?" M'yu called, and Evriss shouted directions as the group threaded between the chaos.

Evriss swiped his card, and they all threw themselves inside. M'yu tapped furiously at the console, and the door swung shut. Another round of commands set the hover to moving just as a second wave of people arrived in the mouth. Their vehicle rolled up and over the stationary hovers, and M'yu darkened the glass.

Sviya laid her hand over his. Her head shook. "Open the windows back up."

He started to protest, but she raised her brows. Frowning, he clicked the button on the console to turn the glass transparent. The Prav'sudja grounds loomed before them, the city on full display down the cliff below. And it was raining. 

The world was awash with droplets flying from the sky. Not frozen droplets, but real, liquid rain that hit the snow and washed the frozen world away, one slushy drop at a time.

M'yu's hands pressed against the glass. He had seen rain just a handful of times, all when he was very young. He only remembered snippets of it: his bare feet in the wet grass, warm drops running down his face. His mother handed him a freshly picked apple that crunched sweetly against his teeth. It was such a small memory, a warm blip in the winter of life.

M'yu ignored Evriss's protest as he keyed in the command for the door to open. Warm wind and water whisked into the cabin. M'yu clung to the inside of the door and swung his arm out, reaching for the fat drops, letting them roll across his hand. Summer was coming.

And Washfall was here.