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“Kestrel—”

I bite down a curse. “Mara, please. I don’t want to fight. We’ve talked about this before, and we could never reach alignment. This isn’t why you brought me up here. Just … please.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” She stops in front of a threadbare cloth some enterprising soul nailed to the wall itself. I understand why a moment later when she flips it back to reveal …

“What is this?” I approach slowly, taking in the drawing on the wall, a near-perfect circle with distinctive symbols sketched into its equal slices. The image of the Wheel of Fortune, one of the twenty-two Caelrian gods. “Why not go to the temple down on Fish Street?” It’s closer to home and I wouldn’t have to climb so damned high.

“It’s closed.” She traces a finger lightly over the curve of the circle. “The last priest died a few months ago and the Wands bought it a few days later.”

“Why here, though?” I can’t stop looking at the image. It’s just paint on rock, but the energy feels strange. It makes my skin prickle. “You could have made an altar closer to home.”

“No one comes up here.” She turns and takes my hands, her blue eyes pleading. “Come on, Kestrel. Make an offering with me. Worst case, it doesn’t work and you humored an old friend.”

“Worst case, it does work, but the Wheel’s luck turns against me.” The only thing worse than no luck is bad luck.

She grins. “See! You do believe They’re watching.”

“As you pointed out, I’m a thief. Of course I’m wary of the Wheel’s luck turning against me.” I tilt my head back, staring up the long expanse of wall, to the faint sliver of the waxing Moon retreating out of sight. “But I’m not going to be the Wheel’s champion. I’m going to be the Moon’s.”

“I know. That’s why I came prepared.” She holds up two coins, beaten and battered in the way only something truly old can be. With a flourish, a pin appears in her other hand. “A couple drops of blood, some meaningful words, and you’re free of me.”

My small smile falls away, a familiar ache blooming in my chest. “I never wanted to be rid of you, Mara. It wasn’t me who made that call.” The pain of her ending things has faded to an ever-present tenderness, but sometimes she likes to rewrite history, and I can’t let that stand. Another reason we likely never would have worked out, even if she supported the choice I’m making today.

“I know.” She tosses the coins lightly and catches them in the palm of her hand. “But you should go into the Trials with as much protection as possible.”

Curiosity banishes my reluctance and I lean closer to get a better look at the coins. A long time ago, probably when the priests set down the gods’ calendar, these coins were in wide circulation. Even as recently as the last Trials, they were still easy to get ahold of. They’ve become less and less common as I’ve gotten older, to the point where I can’t remember the last time I saw one. “Where did you find these?”

“Around.” Which means she stole them.

I sigh. “This is a bad idea.”

“Oh, hush.” She sinks down to sit cross-legged. “Give me your hand.”

There’s nothing to do but follow her. I sit, my knees touching hers, and let her take my hand and deposit the two coins there. One displays the distinctive wheel, and the other shows the moon cycle around the perimeter, full to new to full again, circling a squiggle that might be intended to depict a river. The Moon.

Mara takes my free hand and wastes no time pricking my middle finger. I stare at the blood welling. In the darkness, it’s a shiny black spot against my skin. “Ouch.”

She ignores me. “To the Wheel of Fortune, we offer a drop of blood in exchange for good luck for Kestrel.” She presses my finger to the Wheel coin. “And to the Moon…” Mara’s voice catches. She looks at me with clear blue eyes, all my history laid bare and my future torn between certain death and the possibility of something more, something better. Not just for me, but for everyone in the Dregs. No matter what Mara thinks of my chances of surviving the Trials, she does understand why I’m entering. The gods and the current Cinque might not care about the Dregs, but I do. “Bless your daughter, Moon. She will be the greatest champion you’ve ever known.” She presses my bloody finger to the Moon’s coin.

I find myself holding my breath, waiting for … something. The Moon to reverse course and shine Their light upon me in blessing. A breeze that doesn’t reek of unwashed humans and refuse, even this high up. A tingle. Something. Instead, I’m left sitting here, feeling like a child playing make-believe. I clear my throat. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

Mara smacks my shoulder lightly. “Have faith, Kestrel. That’s the first rule of worship.” She rises, something in her knee popping—an old injury—and rolls her shoulders. “Give me a moment?”

“Sure.” I rise and move away, allowing her privacy as she presses her hand to the drawing of the Wheel on the wall and bows her head. I can’t hear what she says, and if there’s blood offered, I don’t witness it. I wouldn’t, though; Mara has the quickest hands I’ve ever seen. She’s never even had to run from the Wands, which isn’t something most of us can say.

A few moments later, she rejoins me. Her shoulders are slumped, but the moment she catches me watching, she straightens and smiles. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“And you don’t have to be difficult every time someone offers even the slightest hint of help.” She throws a thin arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “Let’s go, before the old man thinks you made a run for it and his heart gives out.”

I can’t bring myself to laugh as we climb down from the dizzying height. We don’t descend to street level—the only people who walk the Dregs’ perpetually muddy streets are those who can’t climb … and those looking to prey on the people who can’t climb. Instead, we take an indirect path, scaling up and down the haphazardly stacked buildings. The Dregs might stretch the entire length of the city, but we literally occupy the shadow between the wall and the hill it was built to protect a thousand-odd years ago. In such a narrow space, the only thing to do is build up as the need arises. As a result, there are plenty of nooks and crannies to wiggle through, ledges to pull oneself up on. When there aren’t, people have built ladders or carved out handholds in the exterior walls.

“Seventh strike!” The strike callers echo as we’re descending the side of the apartment above mine, climbing down using pegs I drove into the wall a few years ago.

I wince. “Mouse is awake by now for sure.” He seems to sleep less and less as the years pass. I hear people live to be nearly one hundred up on the hill, but here in the Dregs, you’re lucky if you see fifty. Mouse is forty-five, grizzled and bent from decades with too little light and never enough food.

“You have plenty of time to make it to the arena if you’re still determined to commit an elaborate suicide.” Mara can’t seem to stop herself from twisting the words into weapons. She opens her mouth, but seems to reconsider whatever jab she was about to deliver. “Damn it, I’m sorry. I’m trying.”