CH459 · Rewrite
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Chapter 459: Snaketooth (Part 1)

During the Months of Demons, Longsong Stronghold’s streets went quiet as a held breath. The Rats retreated into their territories the way animals retreat before a storm—not from fear exactly, but from the old certainty that nothing good moved through the cold. They split the fall’s stockpile into portions and waited for the thaw to bring fresh prey.

That was how it always was.

“Shit,” Snaketooth said, and spat into the snow. “Why do I have to slog through a blizzard to listen to some noble preach policy?”

Beside him, Joe trembled in his thin coat, lips gone the color of ash.

“Put your collar up,” Snaketooth told him. “You’ll die if you catch the cold-plague.”

“He shouldn’t have followed us.” Sunflower’s frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Did Kanas really need all four of us just to pick up a bit of news? He must have it in for us.”

“Save it.” Tigerclaw—broad-shouldered, hard-jawed, built like a boy who had survived on sheer stubbornness—moved to the front of the group without being asked. “He controls our food. What can we do?”

The wind still blew, but noticeably less than before. Tigerclaw had positioned himself between them and the worst of it.

“Th-thanks,” Joe whispered.

No one wanted to talk about Kanas any more than they had to. Rats had ranks the way any organization did: kings at the top, tails at the bottom. Kanas occupied the middle ground—ruler of the Endless Lane in the Western Zone’s outer city, neither king nor tail. He was, if Snaketooth had to name it, a belly or a waist. Close enough to the top that his orders landed hard; far enough that someone above him could crush him without ceremony.

Snaketooth and his small crew deferred to him like they deferred to cold weather—not from respect but from the knowledge that there was no reasonable alternative.

Six rulers like Kanas governed the Western Zone, each commanding their own clutch of Rat teams. Above them sat the Western Zone’s king, whose name Snaketooth had never learned. He didn’t need to know it. Names that high up were not for tails to carry.

Kanas managed several teams, and theirs was one of them. Winning favor meant outperforming the others. For a group of four street kids, that was a hard proposition—they were outmatched in both numbers and muscle. Except for Tigerclaw, who had somehow grown into that frame on half a piece of brown bread a day.

The reason Sunflower believed Kanas had it in for them was a specific incident: Paper. A witch had appeared in the lane, and instead of delivering her to Kanas immediately, Snaketooth had held back—wanting to find a way to profit from her ability first. They had barely started when they ran into a big shot from the Honeysuckle Family, and the witch was taken before they’d earned a copper.

Kanas had simmered ever since. He’d calculated what he could have made selling her to a noble or to the Church—twenty-five gold royals—and held that figure against them like a debt.

“Easy for him to say,” Snaketooth muttered. “Sell her to the Church for twenty-five gold royals? Where would he find those priests? The Church is rubble. And nobles don’t hand gold royals to Rats. They slit throats instead.”

“Snaketooth is, is right,” Joe agreed through chattering teeth. “If he really thought we cost him twenty-five gold royals, he’d have thrown us in the Redwater River long ago.”

“He doesn’t have any God’s Stones of Retaliation,” Snaketooth continued. “He couldn’t have controlled her power even if he’d gotten her. He could only have passed her up to the Western Zone king. He’s angry, not stupid. He knows what we’re worth to him.”

“Stop saying selling.” Sunflower pinched his arm hard enough to leave a mark. “Paper was one of us. Not cargo.” She paused. “You didn’t actually—”

“I didn’t.” The word came out harder than he intended. “I tried to get her out. But the man who took her was the lord of the city.”

Tigerclaw exhaled slowly. “Is she alright? In Border Town?”

“How would she be alright?” Sunflower’s voice went flat. “Being played by a prince is still being played.”

“You say that now,” Snaketooth said, “but the moment you actually see how a noble lives, you’d beg to be played.”


The square stopped them cold.

Several hundred people had gathered around a wooden stage. A bonfire burned against the white. On a day this bitter, in a city where the Months of Demons emptied every street, this was close to impossible.

“Someone actually showed up to preach.” Tigerclaw’s voice was rough with something between skepticism and curiosity. “What game is the noble running?”

“Nothing good.” Snaketooth shrugged. “A new tax. Conscription—they fought a battle recently.” He studied the man on the stage: thick cotton jacket, wool hood, deer-leather gloves. Warm from head to toe. Elk Family label stitched to the cloak. Snaketooth felt his own hands throb with cold just looking at him.

Stealing those clothes was a thought he didn’t bother finishing. You didn’t steal from the Four Families. You didn’t even think about it clearly.

“Go warm up with Joe,” he said to Sunflower and Tigerclaw. “I’ll cover this.”

“You sure?” Tigerclaw raised an eyebrow.

Snaketooth tapped his temple. “Good memory. Every word. Every face. Every grudge.”

Pfft.” Sunflower was already moving. “Fine. But you owe us extra at dinner.”

“If there is dinner.”

After they left, he patted the cold from his cheeks and turned back to the stage. The information would mean nothing to a tail like him. But for Kanas—for the kings above Kanas—the right piece of news at the right moment was currency. Tails delivered. Tails got a little more to eat that night.

Not much. But a little more.

“My fellow citizens,” the attendant called out, voice carrying over the crowd, “this is a joint declaration by the lord of the Western Region, Prince Roland Wimbledon; Earl of the Elk Family, Shalafi Hull; and the lord of Longsong Stronghold, Petrov Hull.” He took a brief sip of hot ale—Snaketooth could see the steam from where he stood—and lifted his parchment. “The City Hall of Longsong Stronghold now opens the grain market to the public. Any citizen who holds surplus grain may sell it freely in the market. However—note carefully—beginning next month, any unauthorized sale of grain becomes a felony. Only the City Hall may purchase and sell grain. Violators will be severely punished. The City Hall also welcomes public reports of violations.”

Snaketooth listened, committing it to memory the way he’d learned to: not just the words, but the weight of them. What a noble announced mattered less than what a noble chose to control. And grain was something worth controlling.

He stayed very still and kept listening.

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