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Shan had never seen a crowd this large in her entire life—not at any social event, not at any of the annual sacrifices, not at anything at all. The streets below were filled with people—with Unblooded citizens—gathered in protest.

They filled the main square of the capital, crowding around the construction work in the central park, spilling out to fill the gardens, packed between rose bushes and standing on benches. They filled the cobblestoned streets around the square, pressing up against the windows of restaurants and shops, fully blocking access to them, a veritable sea of bodies. But Shan and a host of other Blood Workers watched from the balconies above, safe in their second-story restaurants and clubs as the Guards below struggled to keep the Unblooded in check.

As the chants rose.

No Justice! No Peace!

If we don’t get justice, you don’t get peace!

So far there was no violence. No threats. But their chants were loud, organized, and steady, and she wondered when they had found the means to prepare so.

And how she, as the Sparrow, had missed it.

But she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Not after a fourth body in as many weeks had turned up on the street, bloody and brutalized, and fear moved the people to such lengths. Blood and steel, she had studied her history as diligently as the next student, but she had never read about anything like this. If this had happened in Aeravin before, such tales had been suppressed, wiped away like a blot against the pages of history.

And from the tension rolling off Lord Dunn, she was not sure that something like that wasn’t about to happen now. He had invited her to his favorite club when word of the protest had started to spread, along with a handful of others from the House of Lords, and she had readily accepted.

How else would she have gotten such a good view?

“Absolutely unacceptable,” Lord Dunn growled, low and dark, then he downed the rest of his wine. Snapping his fingers, he summoned one of the servers, who shuffled forward and refilled his goblet. “How dare they.”

Shan just fiddled with her teacup. Many of her brethren had turned to wine, or worse, spirits, but it was only mid-afternoon yet and she did not want to be addled. “I am curious how they gathered so quickly,” she said, taking care to be calm, composed. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

Dunn huffed in response. “Yes, I’ve been considering that as well. They must have planned this in advance, but simply been looking for an excuse to gather. It’s too well put together to have been done last minute.”

Shan pursed her lips. “Exactly. That said, they picked a good time. This cause will earn them sympathy, at the least. They are not entirely wrong. People are still dying, and we have no leads.”

“No, they’re not.” Dunn sipped his drink, some of the anger fading as the talk turned to politics. “That’s what is the most frustrating about all this. They almost have a leg to stand on.”

Lady Belrose slid up beside them, greeting Shan with nothing more than a nod. “Almost? They’re dying in the streets, Kevan, and we are doing nothing about it.”

“There are investigations happening,” Dunn started.

“Investigations mean nothing,” Belrose interrupted. “Results do. And all they see is that more bodies are appearing and we continue to go on as if nothing has changed.”

“Everything is changing,” Dunn muttered under his breath.

“And how is that?” Belrose sighed, and Shan noticed that the normally impeccably put together Councillor looked terrible today. Every year of her life stood out on her face in tired lines and dark circles. “As much as it pains me to say it, we are failing them. Our Guard is failing them.”

Dunn cast Shan a look out of the corner of his eye, and she drew up her shoulders, already knowing what he expected of her.

“We are failing them,” Shan agreed, and Belrose looked up at her in shock. “It’s no surprise that they’ve taken to such measures, especially given the…” She trailed off, deliberately looking troubled.

“The rubbish they’ve been spouting?” Dunn supplied, perhaps with a bit too much vigor. “Absolute nonsense. Have you seen the latest? They want their own Parliament House.”

“Yes, I’ve seen,” Shan said demurely. One of her birds had dropped off that one the other night, and it had been an illuminating read. “But surely we can do something. They are our citizens after all, and for the Blood Taxes they pay they do deserve some protection.”

“Exactly,” Belrose said, straightening. She studied Shan with a new appreciation. “Perhaps I underestimated you, LeClaire. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Aside from catching this killer?” Shan said with a shrug. “The Unblooded need to feel like they have a place to go when they have issues. A safety network, a way for their needs to be addressed. Not their own Parliament, obviously, but perhaps a council of some sort. Something that is organized and recognized by the government.”

Belrose nodded as she listened, turning the thought over in her mind. “Yes, like the unions their little pamphlets and books go on about, but not so… drastic.”

“Precisely,” Shan said. “We give them some protections, a little of what they want, and things like this,” she gestured at the protest below, “won’t happen again.”

“It’s all pointless,” Dunn said. “A foolish fancy of youth.”

“No,” Belrose said. “LeClaire is right. Things are changing, Kevan, and sometimes I worry that you and I are too stuck in our ways to see the right solutions.” Turning back to Shan, she added, “Do you have anything formal written up?”