They drifted into a sort of companionable silence the rest of the night, which was mostly spent moving supplies, getting people settled, and for Kess’s part, trying to quell any rumors about Mariel being involved with the rescue. Maybe she would deal with her role in Hillcrest’s politics eventually, but she wasn’t ready yet. Kess caught Rowan’s eyes on her throughout the night, and she, for her part, spent most of the time closer to him than she would have before. If Eamon noticed their closeness, he said nothing, watching the two of them retrieve crates and comfort families together with a keen glint of understanding in his eye.

  Pile of blankets in hand, Kess paused by a man she was fairly certain she recognized from Draven’s tavern months ago—Peet. It was the same man who’d ribbed her for making comments about Forgebrand when she’d discussed her plans to leave the city with Draven—and, now that she realized it, perhaps one of Forgebrand’s leaders. Other men crowded around him, and he seemed to hold court on the boxes he sat on.

  “Lass, you’ve seen better days,” Peet said, grinning.

  Kess smiled at Peet—a wiry, thin man well into his sixties. He had a bruise across his face with the mark of Fulminancy surrounding it that made Kess’s Mark a few months ago look like a clever trick of the light. “I could say the same for you,” she replied.

  He burst out laughing, and some of his companions chucked. They were in high spirits, at least. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. “Surely saving my sorry hide was enough excitement for one night?”

  “I was lucky,” Kess said, avoiding his eyes. “That’s all.” She hesitated, then simply barreled forth with her question. “Did you…ever have a man about my age come around from the Uphill, helping with various projects? He would have been tall and broad, but not athletic at all—nose in a book most of the time, but charming enough.”

  “Hmm,” Peet said, scratching at a beard that was at least several days old. “I do recall a man like that just because he was so odd. I told Draven he was trouble, but you know how Draven was.” His eyes lost some of their mirth, and Kess felt an odd pain in her gut, like someone was twisting a knife. “In any case, I chased the lad off not long after he showed up. He started asking after Fulminancers in Forgebrand—particularly powerful ones. Figured it was better to be rid of him and his money than oust anyone with those kind of secrets.”

  He shrugged, and Kess ignored the burning in her arms, thinking. Why would Oliver have been looking for Fulminancers? She wondered. Peet took a mug of something hot from someone nearby and spoke again.

  “But if the reason you’re asking is because of a disappearance, there’s no better place to look for someone than the Archives.”

  Kess laughed lightly at that. “They don’t let normal people into the Archives.”

  “No,” Peet said, raising his eyebrows at her. “But you’re not normal—you’re Mariel.”

  “I’m not—“

  “I’m sure you can find a way,” he continued, ignoring her outburst. “Force it open with Fulminancy or sneak. There’s probably a more delicate way of doing things, but I’m not one for all the politics. That’s why I stay down here.” He eyed her tottering with the blankets and chucked. “Lass, at least go set those down. The stack’s taller than you.”

  Kess sighed, thanked Peet, and retreated from the group of men, hoping to find Rowan. He’d mentioned the Archives in passing for another reason—some sort of scholarly idea that he’d avoided explaining to Kess in its entirety. But then, they hadn’t had much time alone since the gala between training, Rowan’s research, and Kess’s new slight obsession with Stormclap.

  Kess didn’t find Rowan for some time, and Eamon appeared with a new list of tasks in one of the neighboring warehouses. Hours later, burning up, sweaty, exhausted and still damp from rain and injuries, she sat down on a supply crate in what had been a tavern to rest for a second, leaning against the wall while she waited for further instructions.

  Kess had spent most of the recent years of her life alone. After so much loss, being alone seemed like the only safe way to move forward.

  Still, she thought while she watched tired refugees share food and drink with one another. Maybe there’s some truth to what Rowan says. Kess considered a future where she was plagued again by people she was worried about losing. It didn’t seem appealing to her. But equally, a future where she was alone, with nothing and no one to care about—that didn’t seem appealing either.

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  Today, fighting for other people—that had felt good. Maybe for now, she could focus on that. Kess closed her eyes, figuring she could fight away her pounding headache by blocking out the light.

  Rowan eventually found Kess sound asleep on a pile of boxes next to a disused bar, surrounded by refugees who threw her furtive looks of reverence. He set down his own box and picked his way through the crowd of people strewn on the floor, figuring now was as good a time to retire as any. His own muscles ached and his stomach growled in protest as a deep and heavy exhaustion settled over him. Kess had the right idea, even if she picked the wrong spot for it.

  He moved to pick her up, but stopped as a man’s voice called from a few feet over.

  “Leave her, lad. She saved our lives. You won’t find a safer spot in the whole city.” Rowan somehow doubted that, but several people in the group nodded in agreement. As he looked around the group, his eyes fell on the speaker, and they widened. He was the wagon driver Rowan had hired the night of Draven’s death.

  “You were the man selling ale in the middle of that Lightstorm,” Rowan said, and the man grinned.

  “Aye, and you were that lad with more money than sense,” he said, laughing.

  “How did you end up here?” Rowan asked, sitting down on the box next to Kess. The man shrugged, his eyes on the ceiling.

  “Made a bad bet or two on the rings,” he said. “Owed some money to the Fulminant. You know how it goes, boy. But you can’t win if you don’t play, right?”

  “I’m not sure if this counts as winning,” Rowan said, a wan smile on his face. The man reached over the bar behind him, digging around until he uncovered a dusty wine bottle and a couple of cups. He offered a cup to Rowan and some of the men and women nearby. Rowan shook his head. He was too tired to drink.

  “Not wrong on that one, boy,” the man said, pulling the cork off with his teeth and pouring the wine. “Unless a one-way trip to the gallows is your idea of a win.” He chuckled darkly, sipping the wine.

  “The gallows?”

  “Aye, they carted off the Fulminancers they could find before they shoved the rest of us into those clouding wagons. They said something about colluding with Forgebrand, but how are you supposed to not collude with someone as is shoved into a wagon with you?”

  “Who came for the Fulminancers?” Rowan asked, suddenly curious.

  “Man with a locket,” he said. He squinted suspiciously at Rowan for a moment, then took another swig of his wine. “Looked a bit like you, honestly.”

  Rowan paled. He had no way of knowing if it was his father or not, but the thought didn’t sit well with him. Still, he had never known his father to own a locket of any sort. Maybe it was something Rowan’s mother had given to him during Rowan’s absence. Beside him, Kess stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. He could feel the heat coming off of her and hoped that Claire’s assertion of her abnormal powers was wrong. Tonight hadn’t helped that hope, though.

  “So lad,” the man said, pointing his glass at Rowan. “How’d you get so lucky as to bed Mariel herself? Share your secrets with an old man.”

  “I’m not—“ Several people howled in laughter, drowning out the sound of Rowan’s protests. He didn’t miss how their gazes fell immediately back to Kess, eyes hungry and reverent at the same time.

  “To think that Mattes’ street rat had that in her,” the man said. He chuckled, like he was in on a secret joke. “Was a treat to see both of them flitting about like that.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Aye, there was another. Though our Kess had more of the sparkly stuff, as far as I’m concerned. To think that Mariel was hiding among us all this time.” He sighed. “Almost makes an old man believe the stories.”

  “I’m not sure that—“

  “It’s true,” said another, a young man who sat closer to the boxes Rowan and Kess slouched on. “Never seen so much Fulminancy in me life, and especially not for the saving of normal folk like us. It has to be her.”

  A murmur of agreement rose from the people crowded in the room, as Rowan sat there uncomfortably. Not for the first time, Rowan had the very distinct feeling that they were both in over their heads. People believe what they want to see, even if it’s not true, Rowan thought, watching Kess sleep.

  “In any case, lad, things are about to look up for the Downhill.” He raised his glass in mock toast to Rowan. “This is just the beginning. To Mariel!”

  The group let out a good natured cheer, though they kept it at a conversational level for the sake of Kess and other refugees who had chosen the area to sleep in. Rowan smiled, but he doubted their faith would last. Kess had saved them from a hopeless fate—it was easy to elevate her to the level of myth, especially given that Fulminancers usually avoided revealing themselves Downhill at all.

  Kess was perhaps abnormal, but was he any better? It didn’t make them myths or legends—just people trying to make the best of what they’d been given.

  And, well, Rowan could hardly fault them for that. Even if their faith was—somewhat bewilderingly—misplaced on a girl with far more problems than solutions. And yet, problems or not, as Rowan kept an eye on her for signs of worsening burnout, he thought he saw just a hint of the woman she was becoming. A woman far stronger than Mariel. A woman who embodied hope in a way that Mariel never had.

  And, while he felt blasphemous for thinking it, Rowan wondered if Mariel hadn’t been the god everyone knew her as, but another woman as flawed and imperfect as Kess.

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