Kit nodded. She had met Girt Zanlan a dozen times, a brawny, stupid, brutal man who embodied every quality, good or bad, that could be assigned to the gulden. Chay had never seemed to trust him, though he kept Girt around—mostly, Kit had always thought, to intimidate blueskin ambassadors who were unsure of how to negotiate with the gulden. Jex had always spoken of his cousin with a mix of affection and derision, but he was not above using the man’s clan loyalty when he needed something risky accomplished. Girt was just the sort of father who would inspire a lost, angry young ghetto boy to an act of savagery. Girt would probably even take his son back, after such an act. Girt would consider it noble.

But. “I can’t believe it of Chay,” Kit said, shaking her head. “He would not encourage such a thing. Chay has spoken out against the slaughters again and again.”

Shan shrugged. “Mish is dead. The boy is gone. Girt is in the city. Those are the pieces. Work the puzzle any way you wish.”

Kit nodded again and turned away. She felt sick and exhausted, and the day had just begun. She slipped past the crowd of women and into the building, thinking that perhaps Del would have more information for her. But the stooped, pale, white-haired woman merely looked as weary and heartsick as Kit felt.

“Who knows why this happened?” she said when Kit found her and demanded explanations. “I cannot blame Chay or Girt or even the boy. He did what he was taught. Mish should have left him behind when she came to the city.”

“It’s surely not her fault,” Kit said. “If there is blame here, it is not hers.”

Del shrugged. “There is no blame. There is only tragedy and sorrow. Not even you can come up with a way to solve that.”

Kit swallowed a retort. Del—all of them—seemed to believe that she considered herself practically omnipotent, armed with the answers that would save the world. The truth was, she so often felt confused, overwhelmed, and hopeless that she couldn’t imagine she would ever be able to help anyone. She must act more confident than she felt, she supposed. She must exude that indigo arrogance like a perfume from her skin.

“Very well, then. What is done, is done. Is there anything I can do now to ease or aid anyone?”

“There is that new restaurant in the city. You said you would go there.”