“A lot of places. The hulls of ships that haven’t been put all the way together yet are best most of the time. The Capitol makes more ships than it can ever launch. The hulls are stacked deep at the port. They’re all covered up and barely guarded or even tended to. A lot of us live in those hulls. But I’ve spent weeks inside an empty barrel before. Anywhere that’s dark and hidden and no one bothers to look.”

“And at night?”

Dyeawan shrugs. “It’s easier to move around without being noticed. There are taverns and streets Aegins are afraid to go. But they can be good places to find food or beg for it. A lot of people are generous when they’re drunk.”

“Isn’t that equally dangerous for you, though?”

“Sometimes. Mostly they ignore cripples.” It is clear from the resentment in Dyeawan’s voice that she’s repeating a word hurled at her as an insult or dismissal many times throughout her short life. “I’d always make sure my face and hair were dirty, and the real trick is to never have anything worth taking. Mostly they leave you alone.”

“That’s very smart. Strategically speaking.”

“Thank you.”

“Why hide from the Aegins though, Slider? Especially when you’re cold and starving. Do they harm you and your friends? Beat you, or otherwise molest you?”

“No. They’re not allowed to. Most of them, anyway.”

“Then what do you fear? Other than shelter and food for a few nights?”

“Where I come from, everyone knows when Aegins take you, you don’t come back. We don’t know why, but if it were a good thing we’d see the ones who were taken again. Somewhere.”

“I see.”

Dyeawan fears he’ll press the subject, her blood rushing unpleasantly, but to her relief Edger moves on.

“Tell me, Slider, do you like your new tender? The conveyance we’ve fashioned for you?”

She looks down at the masterpiece of motion beneath her, rubbing her hands and forearms against the top of the paddles just to feel the high polish in the wood.

“It’s… the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” she answers honestly.

“I’m very glad to hear that. I’m pleased to say I designed it myself. We have many very fine wheeled chairs, but when I was informed of how you devised to move yourself around… quite ingenious, by the way… I thought this would be better, would feel more natural to you.”

“It does,” she assures him, gratefully. “I’m sorry, De-Gen, but—”

“There’s no need for that,” he corrects her. “I’m not a member of a Gen. You may simply call me Edger.”

That only confuses Dyeawan further, but her burning question takes precedent. “Did you say… that you made this for me?”

“I did, yes.”