Ashya tiptoed to the edge of the hover with him, and he held her around the waist as she reached for the rain too. Her hand twisted slowly in the air. "It's like the sky is crying for Daddy."

M'yu stepped back, pulling her with him, and shut the hatch. "No it isn't. It doesn't have anything to cry for."

Sviya eyed him. "You do understand what he did, don't you?"

"Doesn't matter. We're going to get him back."

"Young master..." Evriss twisted his handkerchief. "The Prince would not want that. Enough laws have already been broken."

"He wouldn't have sacrificed himself if he didn't have a plan," M'yu insisted. "He knows I can get into the Prav'sudja. He knows—"

"He knows that he couldn't compete in Washfall," Evriss rumbled. "But you can." His lips tightened into a thin white line on his otherwise soft face. His head dropped, fingers still crumpling the kerchief.

"But—" M'yu dropped onto the seat, mind awhirl. Even if M'yu survived Washfall and kept the House of Gold's position in the government, Aevryn still bore M'yu's guilt. He would still be executed. The trial for the Tsaright's crimes had never come; Aevryn hadn't been able to take him off the throne. 

The Gold House might survive, but it would never win.

His fist hit the seat. "Washfall was supposed to be next month," he muttered, throat tightening. "We were supposed to have more time."

Ashya's closed fingers appeared in front of his face. Slowly, she uncurled her hand. "Daddy asked me to give this to you." Her voice trembled. "In case the fairy tale didn't have a happy ending."

Aevryn's linkcard lay in her palm. Gingerly, M'yu picked it up. It was cool and thin against his skin. He balanced it between his fingers, afraid if he held it too tightly, it would splinter into a thousand pieces. Ashya stared at it with him, her face chalk white, and M'yu wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We need to get home."

Tucking it in his pocket, he glanced over at Sviya. "Where should we drop you off?"

She smoothed out her skirts, not meeting his gaze. "I was thinking—" She made another pass over her skirt, then folded her hands tightly. "Well, the Washfall Trial will be tomorrow, and there's no doubt I'll pass my Right to Speak, so if you would agree to it now, on provision, it seems it could be expedient—"

"Sviya Tam, are you proposing to me?" Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Sviya blushed. "Hardly," she grumbled.

"I would be honored to hire you." Then he looked up to Evriss. "We can hire her, right? Aevryn wouldn't disapprove."

"Well." He rubbed the kerchief. "The recent hospital bills, put together with the fine to retrieve the hover from impound, have caused quite a hit on our finances."

M'yu glanced away, throat thick. Ashya patted his leg. "It's not your fault," she whispered even though it was. M'yu swallowed and forced himself to meet Evriss's eyes.

The old man clasped his hands together, the kerchief held steady between them, as he surveyed Sviya. She met his gaze, chin tipped up, and his cheeks crinkled. "But you're right. Prince Aevryn would want to repay kindness with kindness."

"Then it's settled." M'yu nodded at Sviya. "Is there anything we can do to push back the execution date?"

"Without a real lawyer?" Her hands clasped, and she sighed. "Not much. But any heir—that's you, or her I suppose," she said, nodding at Ashya, "can request a final meal with him, and the Prav'sudja can't refuse that. They have to give you a minimum of twelve hours post-verdict to request. After that, they can set the execution for any point."

"So then we wait till the eleventh hour, make the request, and hope that they won't be able to arrange the dinner until after Washfall."

She pursed her lips. "It's not much of a hope."

"It's the only one we have."

Ashya laid her head on his shoulder, and tears soaked into his sleeve. They rode home with rain pattering against their roof.

* * *

It was the smoke they saw first, rising in the distance. It puffed up in a swirling cloud, battered by the rain, mixing with the thinner chimney smoke of other buildings. But this wasn't from a chimney.

M'yu keyed in a command, and the hover doubled in speed, whizzing around the buildings. The Gold House came into view, sputtering like a dying hearth. The smoke rose off it in waves, small flames dancing even as the rain drenched the outside. 

Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it as he sprung from the hover and through the gate. Servants clustered outside the dying blaze, some futilely throwing buckets of water and snow, some just crying. Most of the building stood crooked and blackened, like sick, barren trees. Sparks floated over the snowy ground and through the rain, hissing and sizzling as they went out.

"What happened?" M'yu's voice cracked.

One of the maids detached from another girl and wrapped her arms around herself. Her voice was whispery and hoarse, but she met his eye. "I'm not sure, master. It was after Prince Aevryn left for the trial. All we saw were large men in black hoods. They broke through the gate and the front door and set fire from the inside. We called for the Knights, but—" She pressed a hand to her mouth.

M'yu set his hand on her shoulder.

"No one came," she said. "No one came."

"I'll take care of this," M'yu promised, not sure how he would but sure he had to. The maid returned to the embrace of her friend, and M'yu beckoned at Sviya.

She strode through the snow, shaking her head. "I didn't know he was going to do this. I swear."

"So you think it was your uncle too." This was Gloam brute work. M'yu had seen enough of it to know.

"He was irate about his house burning down, and he's always suspected you had something to do with it. And this morning..."

"This morning what?"

She clasped her hands together, head turned toward the house's husk. "I overheard one of his spies tell him that the Tsaright was considering dropping him. If my uncle was ever going to do something—" She broke off, lip bit.

M'yu's voice was flat. "Then today would be the day to do it."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." He glanced over his shoulder to check on Ashya. She stood stock-still in the rain, staring at her dead home. Evriss turned her away, and she collapsed into his embrace. M'yu looked back to Svi. "But you might be able to help me fix it."

"Mykta, the building is gone."

"It's not the building that matters."

Her brow drew.

"How much control do we have over this last meal?"

"What?"

M'yu eyed her, rain dripping down his face.

"Well." She held her fan over her head to block the rain. "You get to pick the guest list, and your House is responsible for providing the food. The Tsaright picks the time, as well as the location. Historically, they choose the smallest available space in the Prav'sudja to fit everyone attending."

"Good." He turned his face back to the house. "I want you to invite everyone who's competing in the Trial, every one of them who might be halfway sympathetic to us, everyone whose family has ever lost something to the Tsaright or the Magnate."

Sviya choked. "That's a long list, M'yu."

"You said we had eleven hours. Can you make it happen or not?"

"Evriss made it sound like you don't have enough money for that kind of feast."

"It's not the money that matters," he said, as beams fell and women cried and the rain washed everything away. "We'll get by."

Nodding slowly, she said, "Then I'll make it happen."

She started to turn, but M'yu stopped her. "One more thing. I need Ruslan."

She shook her head. "Ruslan hates you."

The fire cracked and died down to smoldering embers. "I know."

* * *

As his people picked through the wreckage a few streets over, M'yu knocked on the door to the House of Mercury. His stomach tied itself into knots, but he held himself straight. He came with information. He came with a plan. 

He swallowed as the butler showed him into the parlor. The room looked like the inside of a knife, all hard-edges and swirling metal. A chandelier cast a silver-blue glow over everything, its glittering, sharp pendants pointed down like threats. The butler left, and M'yu stood with his fingers curled around a hard chair's back. Mercury swirled beneath the glass top of the coffee table, promising chaos. The metal of the chair slipped beneath his clammy hands. This was too big of a gamble. He had no idea how Ruslan was going to react.

He had no way to control him.

But everything had been spinning out of control for a long time. Ever since he got cast out of his home—since he got himself cast out of his home—life had been one desperate attempt at putting the world back together. He'd lied and told himself that if he said Control hard enough, he would have it. But he'd had no control when Aevryn had freed him, either time. He'd had no control in the Prav'sudja, despite having their defenses laid out in his hands. Even his own plans, his hope for a new world, they had been ghosts of Karsya's revenge, breathed to life as he searched for something, anything to believe in. He'd never had any power in his own life, much less in the Cap's world. 

M'yu closed his eyes, released his death grip on the chair, and did his best to ignore the obstacle course his heart was running.

A door clicked shut, and M'yu's eyes snapped open. Ruslan stood there, hands in his tailored pockets, hair askew. "Did you come for another beating?"

M'yu stepped away from the defense of the chair and said carefully, "If that's how you'd have it."

Ruslan scoffed. "Careful what you wish for, snipe. I might just take you up on it." He leaned against the back of a chair. There was something in his eyes, or maybe in the way his shoulders sagged even as the rest of him stood alert and watching, that reminded M'yu, for the first time, of a Gloamer kid.

Hesitantly, M'yu settled into one of the chairs. "I thought we might talk."

Ruslan watched him from across the table. Flatly, he said, "If my master finds you here, he'll kill you."

"I know."

"You should have died in the Prav'sudja."

"I know."

"Then why are you here? Rot it all!" Ruslan's face twisted. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

M'yu flinched back.

"Get out," Ruslan said. "Get out!" He pushed off the chair, coming around the table with his fist clenched, but M'yu just sat there, hands curled tight. "Are you deaf now too?" Ruslan leaned over him and shook the chair, his breath hot as he growled at M'yu again. "Get. Out."

M'yu closed his eyes, swallowing. He could still feel Ruslan hovering in front of him, the rage pouring off him like heat from a fire. M'yu's throat was dry. He licked his lips, trying to prepare the words. "I came to beg for your help."

Ruslan shoved, and the chair toppled over. M'yu banged his head as he spilled out. His instincts screamed at him to jump up, to fight back, to do anything but lay here defenseless on the floor. But he forced his curling hands still, his tensing muscles slack, even as Ruslan marched over toward him. "Beat me up if you want," M'yu said, meeting his eye. "I—" He swallowed, fighting another flinch. "I'm at your mercy."

Ruslan snarled and snagged M'yu's collar. M'yu let him drag him to his feet and shove him against the wall. "What do you want, snipe?"

The words waited in M'yu's throat like witchcandy, eating away at his resolve. He didn't owe this boy, this bully, this Cap snot anything. He wanted to spit in his face, to fight him, to stand over him and kick him while he was down. He bit his cheek. "I want you to help me save Aevryn."

"What, after you got him killed?" Ruslan shoved back, and M'yu stumbled against the wall. "You're out of your rotting mind."

He spread his hands out. "I know you hate me, so you wanna take it out of my flesh, take it. But don't take it out on Aevryn."

"And why not?" he snarled.

M'yu swallowed, voice low. "Because we both know how much leeway he gave us. And we know that whatever's screwed up in our life, it's us that screwed it up. Not him."

"He kicked me out," he growled.

"He saved your life!"

Ruslan paled. "Who told you that?"

Sviya was the last thing they needed to talk about right now, and she had only told him the gossip anyway. The truth, the reality of it—that wasn't told. It was experienced. M'yu met Ruslan's eyes, words slow but intent. "You were an addict like me. A thief like me. But when your family threw you out, Aevryn didn't."

Ruslan dropped into a seat, hand shaking. "Shut up," he muttered. His fingers slipped a morsel of witchcandy out of his coat.

"He told us we didn't need it, and we thought he was wrong."

"Shut up!" The witchcandy crumbled between his fumbling fingers and slipped to the floor.

"He didn't throw us out. We ran."

"I was never good enough for him!" His hand cut across the air. He panted, scooping up the candy bits and popping them into his mouth. "And I was never going to be," he muttered, eyes haunted.

"So you did what we do."

"There is no we!"

"Aevryn didn't throw you out."

"He would have gotten rid of me," he growled.

"Would he have?"

Ruslan shot to his feet. "What do you want?"

M'yu held up his hands. "The only thing I want is to save Aevryn." His hands dropped. "He doesn't deserve to pay for the things we've done." He bit his lip. "Not anymore than he already has."

"Sounds like your problem."

"Because you've never done anything to him you wish you could take back?"

Ruslan stared M'yu down, eyes dark and unwavering. Sviya had told M'yu the rumors that had floated around when Ruslan joined Dymtrus's house: Aevryn, a righteous fool, threw Ruslan out and Dymtrus jumped to secure a valuable asset trained by his enemy. But she'd mentioned something else that stood out to M'yu. Aevryn had been working a case against Dymtrus at the time. A case Aevryn lost, right after Ruslan showed up on Dymtrus's doorstep.

If M'yu was going to jump ship, he knew he wouldn't have done it empty handed. He would've brought Dymtrus files, secrets, anything of Aevryn's that would make him worth keeping around.

Maybe Aevryn had had a reason to be tight-lipped with M'yu. Maybe he'd had cause to keep the library locked, to not let him too far in, too fast, even though they'd both known Washfall was barreling toward them.

Maybe he hadn't felt like getting betrayed again.

The thought stabbed M'yu in the chest, but Ruslan didn't move, didn't budge. A scoff escaped M'yu's lips, and he raised his hands. "Fine. Alright. It may just be my problem, but I'm begging you to make it yours too. You can't tell me you really want to see him dead."

Ruslan looked away, jaw twitching.

"Please, Ruslan. Look." M'yu stepped forward, hands spread. "I don't have much inheritance now that the Magnate's burned the Gold House to the ground, but if you want it, it's yours. You want the money? I'll transfer it. If I could give you your spot back, I would. Just so long as Aevryn doesn't die."

Eyes burning, he held Aevryn's linkcard out to Ruslan. It glittered in the silver-blue light, shining like the powerful tool it was. M'yu forced his fingers to loosen so that when Ruslan grabbed it, M'yu wouldn't be holding on too tightly.

But Ruslan just stared at him for a long time, not even looking at the card. Their gazes stayed locked, and M'yu stood frozen, afraid that any movement might shatter the world into violence.

Ruslan's lip curled. "I don't want his stupid card." He paced away, tugged a different chair out, sat, his hand pressed across his lips. "What have you got up your sleeve, snipe?" he asked, but his voice was strained, like shoes you've walked on too long that hold themselves by threads to get you where you're going.

"I want you to come to his Last Dinner—you and the other kids in your House. And I want you to take his side."

"Like he took mine?"

M'yu sat down, forearms across his knees. "You're really telling me you don't have any idea why you ended up leaving his House? That he just tossed you, out of the blue, into the cold?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know Aevryn. And you do too. He doesn't pick fights. He doesn't lie. And he certainly doesn't betray."

Ruslan looked away, jaw tight.

"You were right, Ruslan. I'm not special." M'yu shrugged, looking away, the words sour in his mouth. "I'm no hero. But Aevryn?"

Standing, M'yu walked past the fallen chair, past Ruslan, toward the door. He looked back over his shoulder. "Aevryn is."

Ruslan's eyes stayed trained down, and M'yu sighed. "I really hope you'll be there."

The silence weighed heavy and condemning, but M'yu had nothing left to say, no arguments left to make. He'd done what he'd come to. He couldn't do any more than that.

Drawing a deep breath, M'yu reached for the handle.

"Snipe."

M'yu paused, glancing back. Ruslan's hands were in his pockets, gaze anywhere but M'yu, but he nodded. "You said it yourself. Aevryn doesn't betray."

M'yu swallowed thickly, thinking of his own betrayals. By the faraway look in Ruslan's eyes, he guessed the apprentice was remembering ghosts of his own. M'yu wasn't sure what choices led him from Aevryn's House to Dymtrus's. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but he did know well enough what it was like to go so far you couldn't come back. "Thank you."

"Don't." Striding past M'yu, Ruslan opened the door. "Now get out. Before my master comes back."

M'yu bit his cheek. He nodded briskly at Ruslan, then hurried back home with the apprentice's stony face watching from the door.