Kess spent the rest of the night in a sort of trance, as she, Rowan, and Eamon found the wagons in Whitering District again, forced the locks off, and marched close to fifty men, women, and children through the city to various safe houses located two tiers up in Bloodring. Kess thanked any higher powers she knew that the wounded Witchblades from earlier were missing—presumably carted off by others. She kept her wits about her as she helped everyone get settled, but knew she was running on adrenaline.

  She mechanically did what Rowan or Eamon said, ignoring their passing expressions of concern. Arlette was right. She had brought this mess down around them, and she would see it through.

  The other thing Kess had to ignore was talk of Mariel, echoing through the walls of each safe house she visited. There was a reason these people had been shoved into wagons—they were considered Forgebrand sympathizers or members. Most, it seemed, were just ordinary folk who supported anything that meant better jobs or mobility throughout the city. And unfortunately, Mariel had become a symbol of hope for people Downhill. With rings more readily policed and the job instability characteristic of Floodstorm season, people had sought something to latch onto.

  Mariel was it. And by saving the wagons with her Fulminancy, Kess had simply fed the legend.

  Mariel was back. Mariel had come to save them all. Mariel would march Uphill and demand an end to city restrictions. Sashes would be a suggestion rather than a requirement. Downhill citizens would be able to attend expensive fights and parties for free—the list went on, and as the night grew longer, the claims lost all sanity.

  Kess tossed a crate at her feet with more strength than she meant to after hearing someone claim that Mariel had stopped by their house to give their children sweets. The crate crashed down to the warehouse floor, narrowly missing her feet. Next to her, Rowan raised an eyebrow.

  “Rough night?” he asked. She gave him a withering look.

  “You could say that.” Rowan set down his own crate in a corner and made his way over to Kess, dodging a group of young women shrouded in blankets and whispering excitedly. He put a hand on Kess’s shoulder.

  “Go get some rest. Eamon and I can take care of the rest of it.” Kess frowned, watching Rowan’s face. She tried to piece something together in her mind, but couldn’t—so she blurted it out instead.

  “Why are you always trying to help me?” Before she knew it, words were tumbling out, unbidden, a waterfall of confusion and doubt. “You saved my life, you brought Draven’s body back, you’re always doing little things you don’t think I’ll notice, like bringing chairs when my leg was still injured, or arranging my room. Why, Rowan?”

  Words spoken, Kess wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer. What if Rowan was just…helpful? What if there was nothing more there? And, if there was, would he tell her? Rowan stood there for several long moments as rain drummed on the roof overhead. When he finally spoke, his words were careful.

  “Because I see a woman who has spent entirely too much of her life relying on no one but herself,” he said, voice quiet. “When we first met, I thought you were a coward—I thought Fulminancy was wasted on you, and that if I had those powers, I would do better.” He let his hand fall from her shoulder and watched his own boots as he spoke, hand on his sword hilt. “I realized I was a fool. Maybe you were afraid, and maybe you still are, but after seeing what it did to you, I was wrong to think I wouldn’t have reacted in the same way.”

  Kess turned the words over in her mind, chewing her lip. Rowan is wrong, she thought. I am a coward. She met his eyes, and he seemed to read the thoughts in hers.

  “Cowards don’t do what you’ve done in the last few months, Kess.”

  Kess didn’t bother arguing with him. She didn’t bother telling him that it was her refusal to accept who she was and what she was capable of that had created these situations in the first place. If one had to be brave to deal with the aftermath of their own stupidity, did it still count as bravery?

  “I have to rely on myself,” she finally said, her voice hoarse from the night’s events. “Every time I rely on other people or otherwise get involved with them, they die, Rowan.” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, though she tried to chase them away. “My brother—“

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  “He’s still alive, Kess.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said.

  “No,” Rowan replied. “But I do know that if he’s spearheading research for the Council, or bait for you, they’ll leave him alive. And given what you’ve told me about the circumstances of his disappearance, I’m no longer certain it’s even tied to you.”

  I’m not either, Kess thought. But it was easier to blame herself than to delve into why Oliver, of all people, might be involved with Forgebrand, or with the Council of all people.

  “Maybe,” she said, watching her feet. Her toes were soaked through and cold beneath the boots and socks. “But Draven would be alive if he hadn’t gotten involved with me, Rowan. They were looking for Fulminancers—I just don’t think they recognized me when I showed up.” Rowan’s fingers, warm and strong, gripped her chin gently and forced her to look at him. He brushed back a tear with his thumb.

  “Draven made his own decisions, Kess. He was the leader of the underground. He led a resistance through Forgebrand, for Mariel’s sake. The man knew what consequences his actions would have.”

  Kess said nothing, but turned her chin out of his grip to stare at the wall instead. Maybe he was right. The entire city seemed to know about Draven’s Forgebrand except for Kess. But that in and of itself raked claws over her heart—Draven hadn’t thought that Kess would support his life’s work, something so important to him that he’d died for it.

  “Kess, you don’t have to do all of this alone.”

  “He never told me,” Kess said quietly. “He talked about this grand future where Mariel would save the lower city and stop the abuse—where no one would have to live in fear of the Fulminant.” She laughed, darkly. “He even told me she was forming a resistance, but never once did he admit to me what he was doing. Now that he’s dead, I hear it all secondhand, like it was common knowledge.” She looked up at Rowan again, blinking away tears. “I spat on his life’s work, Rowan. I threw it away and cursed it. What kind of person does that make me?”

  “It makes you human, Kess.”

  The simplicity of the statement shocked Kess out of her misery, and her words died on her tongue as people bustled past in the busy warehouse. “None of us know what the future holds,” Rowan said, his words gentle. “You couldn’t have known what Draven was building, and even if you had, where would that have left you? Draven wasn’t a fool, and he cared about you, Kess. He might have been willing to die for his resistance, yes, but was he willing to have you die along with him?”

  “I should have been there for him. I should have at least been able to share—“ Her throat tightened, and she nearly lost her words. “To share that hope with him,” she whispered.

  “We’re not always ready for what we should have done,” Rowan said gently. “But we can be ready for it next time.”

  There would be no next time for Draven. But maybe…Kess thought that maybe, she could share his hope for a better city. She’d done a woefully bad job so far in making it a better place, but if Mariel truly had the power to change things, maybe she could be at the forefront of that change—if she could conquer her own insecurities.

  “Thank you,” she finally whispered. Rowan simply took her arm and inspected Claire’s poorly done bandage with distaste. It was bloodied and needed replacing, not unlike the rest of her clothes. Rowan was close, and his touch warmed her chilled fingers, the earthy smell of the rain strong on his damp clothes. Her breath caught in her throat as he adjusted her sleeve gently.

  Here was a man whose family had cast him out for no other crime than being born normal. She had long cursed the circumstances of her own birth, but were Rowan’s much different? Yet still he fought for a better future, though his family and his world scorned him and left him for dead.

  Kess couldn’t afford attachment, and yet she found it hard to ignore Rowan. Perhaps it was that the two of them spent too much time together, or that too many near-death experiences had skewed her perception of things. Maybe Claire was right, and she was simply concussed. Regardless, Kess felt something damning stir in her gut—a realization.

  The idea of losing Rowan terrified her.

  When the silence stretched on too long, Kess studied his face. It was paler than usual, his curls plastered to his head with rainwater, and faint bruises settled underneath his eyes. “For someone who says I should get some rest, you look pretty exhausted to me,” she said, smiling wanly. He snorted, his eyes falling on the bandage over her ribcage, visible through her torn shirt.

  “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” he asked.

  “I try to avoid such a distasteful task, if at all possible,” she said, making a face. He laughed, actually laughed, and the sound filled her with warmth. Maybe it was her own exhaustion, or the bone-deep grief she still felt for Draven. Maybe it was her worry for Oliver, her fear of what she had unleashed with Rae, or something else, but Kess found herself laughing too.

  She loosed her arm from Rowan’s gentle grip and gave his fingers a squeeze, smiling at him. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take my chances with the boxes and crazy people instead of Arlette,” she said, gesturing to the supply crates.

  “Now you’re figuring it out,” Rowan said, squeezing her hand back before turning to move another crate. “Nothing’s scarier than Arlette.”

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