Kess paced the rug behind Rowan’s couch, nudging stacks of paper and books out of the way as she stalked by. Rowan sat on the couch behind her, pretending to be calm. Kess wasn’t fooled; she could see how the wood disappeared faster from his carving than he meant it to. His arms held too much tension for the usual delicate work he did, and the focus that usually adorned his features when he worked with his lights was gone, replaced by a vacant stare. Kess was surprised he hadn’t sliced his finger open yet. Eventually, she broke the silence.

  “What exactly is your plan now, Rowan?” She paused by the foot of the couch and gestured out the window, where the Floodstorm still blew. “City homes, lit with your lights, a father who knows far too much about my past, and your promise of an empty Seat and you becoming Fulminant of all things.”

  Rowan’s knife paused over the carving. “He only knows about your time as a Bloodcrawler,” he said quietly. “Not whatever else happened to you Uphill.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “As far as I know,” Rowan admitted. “The plan is the same regardless—we get into the Archives and figure out a way to stabilize those lights somehow.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you’re going to deal with the rest of it,” Kess said, resuming her pacing.

  “I have someone who might be able to help with that,” Rowan replied, bent over his work again. “I sent him a note this evening before we left—we should be able to meet with him the next time we’re Uphill.”

  “Who?” Kess asked, curious.

  “Lord Niall of Redloch. He’s a master Fulminancer, and an old friend from the university.”

  Kess sat down on the couch, hard. Rowan gave her a look. “Kess, we need to trust someone.”

  “So you start by throwing our extensive list of problems at the foot of one of those…”

  “Those what?”

  Rowan held her gaze, and Kess looked away, uncomfortable. She folded herself into the corner of the couch and stared into the fire rather than meet Rowan’s eyes again.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Kess, I worked with Niall for years—he’s harmless, and if anyone can help, it’s him.”

  “Right before he reports us to the nearest Witchblade patrol,” Kess muttered. Rowan’s knife snapped off a chunk of wood.

  “Kess, I caught you toasting bread of all things with your Fulminancy last week and now you want to go back to playing the us versus them card? I know I’m hardly one to talk, given the mess I find myself in, but hypocrisy doesn’t negate change. It’s still there, and you can only run from it so long before it catches up to you and makes you face reality.”

  Kess stared into the flames, a little stunned. She had changed. Though her previous fear of her Fulminancy was still there, it was now more of a background nervousness, akin to the way even an accomplished hiker would fear the mountains surrounding Hillcrest. She worried, of course, about the constant burnout, and the creeping heat which settled under her skin even now.

  But her Fulminancy now felt familiar to her—like a longtime friend. Maybe I’m being too harsh, Kess thought. Perhaps this Niall was as Rowan suggested. Even so, Rowan’s other ideas were windblown.

  “Maybe this Niall is fine,” she said, “but no one is going to be able to help you become Fulminant, Rowan. The very idea is as ludicrous as you acquiring a Seat. What are you going to do? Kill one of them?”

  “I didn’t say I would acquire one for my father, did I?” Rowan asked, and when Kess looked up, she saw the light of a plan forming in his eyes.

  She snorted and tried to avoid the very real sense that they were both in over their heads. “I don’t see you pulling the strings of a Seat from behind.”

  “And a few months ago, I didn’t see myself trying to hide exploding lights from an entire city.”

  “Point taken.”

  Silence settled over the room, save for the crackling of the fire and the steady, rhythmic drum of the rain outside. Kess watched Rowan carve for a moment, then looked away, unable to watch him butchering his usually beautiful work. Finally, the rhythmic click of his knife stopped again.

  “Kess.” She looked up to find Rowan watching her, carving still in hand. “I know people like my father would suggest otherwise, but being a Fulminancer doesn’t make you a monster. It doesn’t make you any more likely to seek violence than the rest of us.” Kess looked back at the fire, unconvinced. Still, Rowan pressed on. “You’re just a person with a gift, Kess. How you choose to use it—that’s up to you. But it isn’t inherently bad—no more than any weapon is.”

  He went back to his carving in silence and left Kess to stare into the fireplace for a very long time.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The ball later that month was held in one of the highest manors in the city, its spires and towers soaring into the sky to twine with storm clouds. Several floors above the great hall sat a circular, winding corridor, its outside walls entirely encased in glass. Kess and Rowan passed beneath the overhead passageway and into the ballroom proper, though Rowan tugged on her arm and directed her towards a second entryway situated to the side. Kess, for one, was glad to escape the pomp and circumstance of the ballroom, though the Stormclap room was tempting.

  “There he is,” Rowan murmured into her ear as they dodged another clump of people with wine glasses. Kess followed Rowan’s gaze and froze where she stood. A tall young man perhaps in his mid thirties laughed gregariously at someone’s joke, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. His blond, styled hair was thick with youth, and his face a healthy shade of tan that indicated time spent outdoors. Around his waist, though, sat something damning—a silver and blue sash.

  “When were you going to tell me that your old friend is a Seat, Rowan?” she hissed, keeping her voice down.

  Rowan tried and failed to hide a tiny smile. “Whenever was relevant.”

  “You didn’t think it was relevant,” Kess repeated tonelessly.

  “When would you have had dealings with the Council, Kess? Your family was what, red and white? Clouds, the Westhills probably had more contact with the Council than your family did.”

  Kess snapped her mouth shut at that. I really should have told Rowan more, she suddenly thought. But when would she have had the chance? It wasn’t a conversation she could simply sit down and have—not without hours of explanations, and the ever-present risk that Rowan might either laugh her out of the room or hold her at arm’s length from that point on. With everything else on her plate, Kess wasn’t sure she could handle the latter.

  “You could have at least warned me,” she said, watching the crowd of onlookers disperse slowly around Niall.

  “And have you run off to the Stormclap room?”

  Kess blushed but had no time for a response as the large, smiling man caught Rowan’s eyes, made excuses to his crowd, and drifted through the room towards them.

  “Rowan, my good man, it’s been far too long.”

  Rowan reached out to shake his hand, but Niall pulled him into a quick hug, clapping Rowan on the back. There was a moment of shock on Rowan’s face that Kess tried not to laugh at before he mastered himself and grinned back at Niall.

  “You’re far too busy and important for a disgraced inventor,” Rowan said, clapping him on the back. “It was hard enough to keep up with you back at university—how one man releases groundbreaking research on a weekly basis is still beyond me.”

  “It’s beyond me too,” Niall whispered dramatically. “It was hard enough getting rid of everyone long enough to get any work done back then. Having a Seat has complicated matters, I’m afraid.” A look of distaste settled over his features before his eyes caught Kess and lit up again. “And who is this? The esteemed Stormclap player I keep hearing so much about?”

  “The very same, Lord Redloch,” Kess replied, though she felt her cheeks grow warm. With embarrassment or Fulminancy? She thought bitterly. To cover, she offered her hand to Niall, who bent his solid figure to place his lips on her hand, eyes sparkling.

  “It’s just Niall,” he said, meeting her eyes. “No Lord, either. Truthfully, I find all these court manners much more exhausting than the bickering back at the university, though my fellows don’t seem to mind.” He gestured towards a group of Seats laughing and entertaining a large group of people in the main hall. “It’s an introvert’s worst nightmare,” he whispered, looking at Rowan and Kess in turn. Kess found herself smiling more genuinely, though she had to avoid looking at Niall’s sash to do so. She didn’t miss Rowan’s smug look of I told you so planted in the form of a smirk on his face.

  “If I’m not careful, I’ll have two companions escaping to the Stormclap room,” Rowan said, taking Kess’s hand again as Niall gestured towards the staircase. He snatched a roll from a platter as a servant drifted past, and Kess was tempted to do the same—whatever was going on with her Fulminancy, it had a tendency to affect her metabolism. Kess wasn’t sure she wanted to know the specifics of it, but she found herself perpetually hungry all the same.

  “Fortunately, you’re safe with me on the Stormclap front,” Niall replied, climbing. “I never had much of a mind for it. Each move takes me far too long—I time out long before I have a chance to even establish a position.” He glanced at Kess as they turned a corner and climbed another flight. “A good Stormclap player has an air of decisiveness about them that I’m not sure agrees with my scholarly tendencies.”

  Kess watched Niall climb ahead of them, tearing off chunks of his roll as he went. As likable as he seemed, there was something off about the man. His eyes lingered on her for much too long—not in a lecherous way, but a familiar one. Like he knows who I am, Kess thought with a start. Still, Niall was new to the Council, and everyone else connected to Kess was dead. But something wasn’t right about Niall. Kess watched him much more closely as he conversed with Rowan, animated and cheerful.

  “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” Niall said, cresting the top of another set of stairs, roll still in hand. Kess regretted her shoe choice as they climbed, her feet complaining loudly with each step. “Besides your timely letter, that boar of a man Furion is at it again.”

  “Doing what exactly?” Rowan asked. Another piece of the roll disappeared.

  “If you’ve asked him for a favor, I’m afraid he’s charging you more than it’s worth,” Niall said cryptically. Kess felt Rowan stiffen beside her.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean,” Niall said, polishing off his roll, “that he’s been telling anyone at court who will listen that the Northmonts’ disgraced son has been asking for access to the Archives. Oh, don’t scowl like that, my dear man. Everyone with sense knows you did nothing to deserve the treatment you got.”

  Kess exchanged a glance with Rowan. At least his father kept up his end of the bargain, she thought. For now. The Uphill was too complicated. Kess wanted to find Oliver and be done with it, but each step she took seemed to generate an endless number of pathways, equal in their frustration.

  “In any case,” Niall continued, “This deal with Furion won’t get you the results you’re expecting.”

  “Not without your expertise,” Rowan said. Niall turned at the top of the flight of the stairs, grinning.

  “Precisely,” he replied. “What you’re looking for isn’t so easily accessible for the Northmonts’ disgraced son, even if he’s making lots of promises and bringing a pretty date.” He winked at Kess, who tried to turn her grimace at her aching feet into a smile. Niall then gestured down the circular hallway that wound its way around the manor. “But we should probably speak about these matters in a more private place. Come.”

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