Rowan stared at a soaked, bloodied Kess in shock, wanting to eat his words to Claire from before. It took him a moment to register what she’d said at all.

  “Why?” Rowan finally asked. “What happened?” Rowan watched Claire work, the woman efficient as she checked a bloodied gash in Kess’s side, as well as a few shallower cuts on her arm. She muttered something and leaned out of the kitchen door to yell for a messenger. Claire turned back towards Kess, crossing her arms.

  “Start talking,” she said.

  “Witchblades were leading people away in prison carts,” Kess said, her teeth chattering. The door had shut quickly behind her, but Rowan could still feel the odd chill in the air from an unseasonably cold Floodstorm night.

  “They’re long gone by now, then,” Rowan said, eying Claire. Claire reached out to grab Kess’s arm, and something like understanding dawned on her face.

  “You didn’t let them go,” she breathed. “You cloudspawned demon. Rowan teaches you an ounce of control and you turn into vigilante justice for the whole Downhill?”

  “I had help,” Kess muttered, avoiding her eyes.

  “Help or not, you don’t take on Fulminant patrols as a freshly minted Fulminancer, especially in your condition.” Kess rolled her eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

  “There’s no condition,” she snapped. “People needed help. Draven is gone, so I helped them.”

  “And you’ll bring half the Uphill down with your ‘help’,” Claire snapped.

  The kitchen door slammed open, nearly off its hinges, and all three of them jumped. Arlette stood there, hair disheveled from sleep, with a worried Eamon behind her. Eamon eyed the door hinge with a wince, then Kess with concern.

  Arlette wasted no time on such trivialities, marching towards Kess fast enough that the girl flinched slightly. “Do you know what the number one rule is in this manor?” she whispered, voice dangerous. Kess was mouthy, but not stupid. She shook her head. Arlette stood inches from her face and spat, “Stay. Out. Of. Sight. All of us—not excepting you—have a nasty past we’d all like to forget about, and if the Uphill figures out who any of us are, we’ll have nowhere left to go.”

  The room fell still, silent and sober but for Kess’s faint shivering and the patter of the Floodstorm near the back door. It certainly wasn’t an exaggeration. Arlette had been thrown out of her family home Uphill, Claire was avoiding her required years of healing service, and Rowan had his own problems. Perhaps Eamon and a few of the Downhill staff would have a home to return to, but those individuals were unfortunately sparse.

  “They needed help,” Kess said, holding Arlette’s gaze. She looked exhausted, but there was a spark in her eyes that Rowan hadn’t seen since Draven’s death. This was something Kess was willing to fight for again.

  “I heard what you did,” Arlette said. She placed a hand on her sword. Rowan couldn’t tell if she meant it as a threat or if, like Rowan, years of training had been unable to break her of the habit. “Claire,” she said without stepping away from Kess. “Can she fight?” Kess opened her mouth, likely to argue in her own favor, but Arlette shook her head, looking at Claire pointedly.

  Claire scowled at Arlette before looking over Kess with a critical eye. “Why bother asking me when I already know what you want to hear?” she groused. A faint twitch appeared on Arlette’s lips. Claire sighed, washing away some of the blood from the wound in Kess’s side. “She can fight, but it won’t be pleasant. This needs a few stitches, and well, you’d have to ask her how much Fulminancy she has left.” Claire shook her head, prodding into the wound while Kess sat there, her knuckles turning white as they gripped the stool. “I can tell she used a lot, but that probably means nothing with her. Pretty sure she’s also got a mild concussion, but that’s just her normal state.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Arlette backed off slightly to let Claire work, but stood with her back straight as she spoke to Kess. “Here’s how this is going to go down,” Arlette said. “We can house those people, but you’re going to go out there and get them yourself—none of my guards are going with you. Take Rowan and Eamon if you wish, but you made this mess and you’re going to clean it up, even if more patrols show up.” Her head snapped to Rowan. “Do not leave a trail to this house,” she said. “Use the warehouses where you’ve been sending the beggars—yes, Rowan, I know where at least some of my food is disappearing to.”

  Rowan avoided the woman’s eyes, and Eamon shot him an ‘I told you she knew’ look.

  “Use the underground when you can,” she continued, “and use one of the connected safe houses if you run out of room. And Claire,” she said, eyes pausing on a slash over Kess’s cheek. She pointed at it, one hand still on her sword hilt. “Clean that up with Fulminancy. Neither of them will want questions at the next gala.”

  Kess’s grip tightened so hard on the chair that Rowan swore he could hear it creak. Whether it was from Arlette’s comment or the needle now digging into her side without anesthetic, Rowan had no idea. With that, Arlette stormed from the room, barking orders at the boy who had brought her to the kitchen. The lad fled, wide-eyed.

  Kess sighed, closing her eyes as Claire worked. The girl looked exhausted and pale, and the night was still young. Another arc of Fulminancy curled down her injured arm, and Claire waved it away. Rowan checked his sword belt with a meaningful glance at Eamon, who nodded and disappeared again. He pulled up a stool beside Kess and sat, trying not to watch what Claire was doing on the other side. Claire’s sharp eyes missed nothing, snapping onto Rowan’s face momentarily before returning to her work.

  “I’m sorry,” Kess said, gritting her teeth against Claire’s sewing. Rowan leaned forward on his own stool, his eyes on his calloused hands.

  “Was it worth it?” he asked quietly. Kess’s voice was soft but sure when she spoke.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I hope you gave them hell.” Kess’s eyes fluttered open, and she met Rowan’s gaze, frustration, fear, and something else warring in her gaze. Rowan, for his part, found it odd how much he wanted to comfort the woman, though every time she left the manor a new set of troubles landed in his lap. But then, it wasn’t really her, but the Uphill, if what she said was true. Rowan would have done the same thing.

  Eamon stormed in with several sacks of gear in his hands, tossing them unceremoniously on the kitchen floor with a series of clangs. He tossed a short sword to Kess, who caught it deftly, completely at odds with her quiet exhaustion. Eamon grinned at her, digging through the bag.

  “Just in case, lass.”

  “Just in case,” she repeated, thumbing the sheath off the blade with one hand while Claire wrapped her other arm.

  It was a quick and dirty job, and Rowan knew Claire wasn’t satisfied with it, but she shrugged anyway and packed up her bag, saying, “Told you she should have been followed, Rowan.”

  “It could have happened to any of us, Claire,” he said.

  “Yes,” Claire replied, closing the bag. “But it happened to her.” A flash of green Fulminancy shot its way towards Kess’s face, and Kess darted from the stool, knocking her own over in the process as she bowled into Rowan, who only half caught her. As quick as the dodge had been, Claire had been quicker. Rowan watched Kess touch her cheek and draw away blood, but when she turned towards him, the gash was gone. Claire cackled, slinging the bag over her shoulders as she made her way to the door.

  “You’re a storm spawned bastard,” Kess hissed, still wiping at her cheek. Claire just winked.

  “Sure, but a faster one than you. Did you think I’d forgotten?” she asked. “Try not to bring me too much more work home,” she called out behind her.

  With that, she sauntered away, leaving a still shaking Kess between Rowan and Eamon. Rowan ran his hands through his curls, sighing. The three of them began the process of buckling on more armor and weapons, a sense of finality running between them.

  “Now lass,” Eamon said when they were more prepared. “What kind of numbers are we dealing with?”

  “The kind you’ll want to see for yourself.”

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.