The silence stretched before them, a large, uncomfortable thing, as raindrops flung themselves at the roof. “In any case,” Niall said, leaning back in his chair. “I certainly don’t intend to retire in this Seat as an old, fat man, having done nothing with it. Power and influence are also a responsibility to do better, I think. I wish you two the best of luck down there—provided you can convince Furion to cooperate at all.” He clapped his hands together, smiling at Rowan. “Now, tell me more about this theory on the super compound elements you’ve put together.”

  The conversation degraded into academic jargon and friendly banter. The atmosphere was relaxed, and though Niall had very much rattled Kess with his statement, she didn’t quite feel that the man meant Rowan any harm, and she trusted her gut. Rowan, who had seemed worried earlier, was now absolutely smitten with Niall as he chatted animatedly about his research. A part of Kess ached to see this side of Rowan more often, but she wasn’t much of a scholar herself. She intended to listen to the conversation anyway, but her Fulminancy had other plans.

  The room was oppressively hot, though she was sure it was just another one of her symptoms. She itched to feel the spark of Fulminancy coursing through her body, and when it got to be too much, she excused herself to the cooler air of the hallway momentarily.

  As the door closed behind her, she looked both ways down the hallway and walked over to the twining decorative metal of the window, letting her hand rest there. She glanced furtively about her once more and let a single bolt of Fulminancy out, watching it crackle quietly through the metal.

  Immediately, her headache lessened, and the heat in her face abated slightly. Several things made sense all at once. That heat had also left her when she’d caught Arlette’s book with Fulminancy, and momentarily after her theatrical stunt at the old ring. Each tiny use of her Fulminancy was like a salve to her burning skin. I’ll have to use it or it’ll burn me up, she realized. The knowledge settled into her gut, a thick and heavy thing. Fulminancy was fine in the confines of the manor warehouse, under strict supervision, or even as a self-defense tool. But how could she deal with it when she needed to vent it to keep it under control?

  I was doing it for years, she realized, thinking back to how much easier her Fulminancy was to control as a fighter. Every time I lucked out of a fast blow or took hits that would have cracked anyone else’s ribs, I was using tiny bits of Fulminancy. Far from using her own skills to throw her fights, she’d been cheating without even realizing it. Cheating to lose. Kess smiled grimly at her reflection in the window. She eyed the door, wondering if she should return to Rowan, but decided against it.

  Her footsteps echoed through the mostly empty hallways, the patter of rain overhead a constant companion. She passed by a few couples, pressed against each other, the rain, windows, and isolation of the wheel and spokes of the hallways a refuge from the busy great hall below. She recognized none of them until she reached one of the outer spokes. This hallway was darker, with a single window at the end to cast faint light into the shadows.

  She was a little shocked to see Furion and Reina pressed together at the end of the hallway, with Reina facing away from the window. They seemed…occupied, so Kess turned to go, but not before she saw the haunted look in Reina’s eyes.

  She met Kess’s gaze from over Furion’s shoulder as his hands wandered over her body, proprietary and rough. Something gleamed in Reina’s hand as she let Furion’s touch wander.

  A knife.

  It crackled with a dark gray Fulminancy which illuminated Reina’s pale face at the end of the hallway, casting it in macabre shadow.

  Kess froze, mouth open. Furion never saw it coming. Reina shoved the knife into his back, the wound cauterizing immediately with the heat of the woman’s Fulminancy. Her powers crackled into her feet as the man fell, and she heaved his heavy corpse over her shoulder and out the open window, her actions casual, as if she was taking out the garbage.

  The crack of his body hitting the ground below was clearly audible, even ten stories up. Kess didn’t think—she ran. But Reina was on her instantly, her red and blue sash a reminder of the control that Kess still sought in her own training. She placed a friendly arm around Kess’s shoulders and whispered to her conspiratorially, but her words were not at all those of a friend walking down the hall.

  “He was a child seller,” she said simply. The woman’s clothes carried the acrid smell of Fulminancy on them.

  “So you report him so he can stand trial and be locked away,” Kess hissed back. “You can’t just—“ Reina laughed, patting Kess on the shoulder.

  “An admirable idea, but the courts are useless. He’s been at it for years, shamelessly. No one else would take care of the problem, so I did,” she said. Dully, Kess realized that they were walking towards Rowan and Niall’s room. “You and your little friend are in a little too deep for my tastes, by the way,” Reina said, cocking her head. “I’d get out while you still can. I would hate for you to be implicated in something like this.” She cocked her head, twirling a key in her free hand. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t complete Furion’s deal with you two. Here, the Archives key.” She tossed the key to Kess, who stared at it for a moment, then shoved it into a hidden pocket in her bodice.

  Ahead, Niall and Rowan emerged from the room, laughing and chatting animatedly. Reina stopped, her face friendly and casual. She waved at the two men, smiling, and they waved back before she turned away, her arm still around Kess’s shoulders.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Tell anyone and I’ll kill him,” she said, jerking her head at Rowan. A snap of her Fulminancy stung Kess’s bare skin. Reina laughed and waved at Kess as she danced off towards the staircase, completely the picture of a woman visiting her friend.

  Kess stood there in shock for several moments, trying to master her face before turning back to Rowan and Niall. They were, fortunately, deep in conversation, and though Rowan sent her a questioning look as they made their way back to the great hall, she shook her head, and he returned to chatting with Niall.

  It wasn’t until they were alone in the carriage that Kess was able to process what had happened. She opened the side of the carriage window and vomited into the streets.

  “Kess what—“ Rowan went to stop the carriage driver, but Kess shook her head, using shaky hands to pour a glass of water from the canteen kept in the seat. She took a careful sip, trying to erase the image of the knife entering Furion’s back, and the crack of his body hitting the courtyard below.

  “Have the driver take the scenic route home,” Kess said. Rowan nodded, his eyes concerned, but did as she told him. She said nothing to Rowan, though she felt his eyes on her most of the ride. By the time they arrived back at the manor, Kess was able to master herself well enough to avoid attention on the way back to her rooms.

  Alone, she stripped from her dress into a pair of shorts and a tank top, the plain, familiar clothing comforting to her. The Archives key glinted in the folds of her gown, and she slipped it onto her necklace with her locket and Draven’s ring. That done, she curled her legs against her on the couch and stared into the fire for a very long time.

  Niall, foolish Niall. Kess wanted to laugh at the man, wanted to tell him he was insane for suggesting that the Council, the Seats, the very city itself, was anything other than a violent, filthy place, full of people who only acted for their own good.

  Minutes or hours later—Kess wasn’t sure—a knock came at her door.

  “Come in,” Kess said from the couch. Rowan entered, his jacket, shoes, and belt gone, but his dress trousers and shirt retained, albeit with several buttons loosened on the shirt. He sat on the couch next to Kess, and they stared at the fire together in silence until Kess reached up to run her fingers through his curls, thinking. Her hands still shook. He didn’t shy away from her touch, though it was the most intimate she’d been with him yet.

  “Kess—“ His eyes were earnest.

  “Furion is dead,” she finally said, letting her hand fall to her lap.

  Rowan sat back, stunned. “What?”

  “Reina did it. While you and Niall were talking. She—she said he was a child seller,” Kess said, watching the fire.

  “He was, Kess, he admitted that to us.”

  “I know, but—“

  “It still doesn’t seem right, does it?” he asked. Kess shook her head.

  “Why should someone have to resort to that?” she asked, more thinking out loud than talking to Rowan. “Why should we have a system where someone can get away with something like that for so long that a knife in the back is the only answer? Why—“

  “Niall wasn’t wrong tonight,” Rowan said quietly. “When he said that we’ve gotten very far from what Mariel meant the city to be.”

  “Reina threatened you,” Kess said suddenly. “She said that she’d kill you if anyone found out.” Silence occupied the space between them. Draven’s Forgebrand, Reina’s threats, Niall’s words, and most of all, Kess’s role in it all pressed in on her, suffocating and overwhelming. She had joined these people to find her brother, not to start a war, and certainly not to play politics. Rowan put his hand on hers, tracing a series of thin scars where Kess’s first attempts at emulating Maude had gone horribly awry, the touch gentle and calming.

  “Then we won’t tell anyone,” Rowan said, smiling slightly at her. Something shifted in Kess’s gut, a yearning sensation as she looked into Rowan’s eyes. How much of it was an act? How much of it was just familiarity? And how much of it was real? She thought, just for a moment, about testing her feelings right then and there, with him so close on the couch, but worry clouded his gaze again, and he looked down.

  The key Reina had passed to Kess felt heavy against her chest. Rowan’s idea of power transfer was impossible—something generations of scholars and laypeople alike had dismissed. But if that was the case, then why did so many people know about it? How would Reina, Maude, and Niall alike all know about something that wasn’t supposed to exist? And why would the Council keep one of their own away from any information that might confirm Fulminancy transfer as true? Maybe there was something behind all of this—something that had been hidden so long it had been marked as impossible.

  And where in Fanas’s name would Reina have learned to kill a man like that? Kess wondered, dazed. There were too many uncertainties—so many, in fact, that her mystery with the Stormclap pin seemed small in comparison. Regardless, there was only one place that might have answers.

  The Archives.

  Kess pulled the key from her chain, keeping the locket and Draven’s ring tucked inside of her shirt—Rowan would ask questions, and neither were memories she wanted to explore right now.

  Rowan’s eyes followed as she held the gilded key, turning it in her hand. “What is that?” he asked.

  “A gift,” she said simply, studying it. “From Furion.” Rowan’s face paled, and she knew that he understood. She handed him the key, and he turned it in his hands carefully before tucking it away.

  “We’d better get started.”

  The next ball was canceled. A lower city girl with the same complexion as Reina was blamed for Furion’s death, and the Fulminant claimed it was a sign of the need for more control over the Downhill. Homes were searched, Downhill rings further restricted, and shops that were a Forgebrand front, burned.

  The manor was spared for the time being, though Arlette, Rowan, and Kess all worked overtime with its occupants to keep up its appearances as a Fulminant nobleman’s second home, which mostly involved shooing away any Downhill citizens who were too keen for their own good. It was a patchwork solution to a much bigger problem—rumor had spread of Kess’s involvement with the manor, and her status as Mariel’s supposed successor and Forgebrand’s leader meant that more people flocked to the manor every day, expecting answers.

  The night before their trip to the Archives, Kess and Rowan stood together on the roof of the manor and watched the lower city burn. Kess felt that the thousands of embers glowing in the darkness were pleas for help that she chose to ignore.

  .

  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.