Everyone seemed to want to talk to her. It was a distinctly odd sensation for Maya, out in the open with her haken on her hip. Jaedia had generally preferred that they remain unnoticed. In Litnin, the villagers had been terrified of them, but here people were fascinated instead of fearful.

In Litnin we were there to investigate them, a deeper, cynical part of her mind answered. Here we’re supposed to be helping the dux, and these are his friends.

A small circle of younger guests had gathered on one of the greens, catching their breath from the endless dancing. Maya had lost most of their names almost immediately, but the slim young man in the dark robe was an under-accountant at a merchant combine, and another boy with an arm around his shoulders was a prince of some sort. A blue-haired girl, who refused to stop trying to get everyone to sing, was heir to a manufactory fortune, and her amiable, chattering friend was an officer in the Auxiliaries and related to someone important.

Most of Maya’s attention was on Elodel, and not just because she was sitting next to her. Elodel was a head taller than Maya, broad-shouldered and well-muscled, with short brown hair artfully mussed and wide violet eyes. She worked in one of the appraisal houses, assessing the stream of relics and arcana that the scavengers pulled up from the tunnels under the city. It was fascinating work, or at least Elodel made it sound fascinating, with her musical laugh and sly smile.

Elodel smiled a lot. When she’d broken up laughing at a joke someone across the circle had told, a few minutes ago, she’d slapped her own thigh in amusement, and her hand had ended up resting on Maya’s knee. Maya felt frozen by that hand, pinned by it, breath held, as though in fear of disturbing a butterfly that had just alighted.

“Of course, with Yora and Halfmask on the loose, it’s a wonder anything interesting ever makes it to the appraisal house,” Elodel was saying, to nods from around the circle.

“Why?” Maya said. Her mind was not fully on the conversation. “Who are Yora and Halfmask?”

“You haven’t heard of our little homegrown rebellion?” the prince drawled. “I suppose the rest of the Republic doesn’t have much reason to pay attention to the news from Deepfire.”

“They’re thieves, not rebels,” the accountant said. “Yora talks about freedom for the tunnelborn, but it’s all for show. She’s no better than a mountain brigand.”

“I heard she hands out free bread and blankets down in the tunnels,” the blue-haired girl said.

“Which will only encourage the rats to multiply.” The prince sighed.