“They burnt to death, Rebecca,” Han said, his voice low and fierce. “And the bluejackets did it, on the queen’s orders. Mari was seven years old.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “No. That can’t be true.” Her mouth formed the word no even when no sound came out.

“You said the queen’s in charge.” Han knew he should stop, but he’d had this stuffed up in his heart so long that it was like the floodgates had opened. “After that, somebody came back and murdered the Raggers and the Southies. Some of them were lytlings, too. The ones you saved from Southbridge Guardhouse—they’re all dead.”

Tears pooled in Rebecca’s eyes. “So…Sarie and Velvet and Flinn are…”

“All dead, far as I know,” Han said. “Cat’s the only one that escaped.”

“It was all just a waste?” Rebecca’s voice wavered. “Why didn’t you tell me? About your family and…and everything?”

“You never asked,” Han said. “People die in Ragmarket and Southbridge every day. They don’t count in the blueblood world. It’s just one more sad story.”

“But…we’re not all like that,” she said, her lower lip trembling.

“’Course not.” He snorted. “Her bloody Highness the princess heir tosses her pin money our way and we’re supposed to get down on our knees and thank her.”

“That’s not what she wants,” Rebecca whispered, looking stricken. “She’s not looking for gratitude. She just—”

“Of course you’d stick up for her,” Han said. “Bluebloods always stick together.”

This time, Rebecca didn’t try to respond. She sat, twisting a gold ring on her forefinger, staring straight ahead, her face as pale as scribes’ paper.

As silence grew between them, guilt crept over Han. Of course she’d defend them. She’d grown up in the court, and her friends were bluebloods. She wasn’t the enemy.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Han said. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you. You may be a blueblood, but you’re not to blame for what happened.” He closed his hand over hers.

None of what he said seemed to make her feel any better.

It wasn’t her fault that his life was a disaster. He was trying to figure out a way to say that when she slammed her chair back, nearly toppling it, and stood.

“I have to go.” She snatched up her bag. “Please accept my…sincere…condolences at the loss of your family,” she said, voice hitching. “I am…so very sorry.”

She flung herself out the door as if she were being chased by demons, leaving her flowers behind. He heard her banging down the steps. Then nothing.

Han sat frozen with surprise for a moment. “Rebecca,” he shouted. “Wait!”

He scraped together his books and papers and stuffed them into his carry bag, then launched himself down the stairs.