Kess stood at the back door of the manor and tried to deal with her squirming emotions. Unfortunately, Draven had read Kess like a book; she wasn’t able to stand by and simply let the problem with her brother sort itself out—especially given that his disappearance probably had something to do with her own antics.

  This Rowan—stormsick though he was—was her only way forward. Perhaps he wouldn’t have the information she needed to find her brother, but his connections Uphill would—connections that Kess had long since lost, abandoned, or never made in the first place. They would know where to look.

  There was one problem.

  Kess hadn’t forgotten the men she’d murdered at Riverside. Far from it, she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning at Draven’s as the men’s screams echoed in her ears. It was another reminder—one much more concrete than that of the Stormclap board—that Kess simply couldn’t be trusted with her powers.

  And yet this Rowan wanted her to learn her powers. The idea was as ludicrous as it had seemed to Kess two days ago. Subterfuge wasn’t exactly her best skill, but she would have to use it just enough to satisfy her end of the deal. He’d said he wanted to teach her Fulminancy—not have her master it.

  She’d have to try to get along with Rowan. The man’s favor would be key to his patience with her lack of progress. It was unfortunate that Kess understood the exact swing of a punch much better than the swing of human favor.

  Kess sighed, her mouth already dry, and raised her hand to knock at the back door. She paused, then, on a whim, tried the door. It clicked at first, which was expected. A tiny shim of metal Kess used to pin her sash together remedied that, and a few more clicks opened the door. She quietly shut it behind her and leaned against it, smiling to herself. She wasn’t exactly a lock pick, but residential doors were the easiest to rig. She’d had a few Downhill boys teach her the trick when she’d locked herself out of her own home once, and had kept the metal on her ever since, despite its bad luck.

  The room was eerily silent with the absence of the Drystorm in her ears. Kess stumbled through the darkness for a moment, the chamber a blur of dim, indistinct shapes.

  There has to be a lantern around here somewhere, she thought, frowning. There were no hooks on the wall, and her hand came away from the stone with an oily coating. Kess sniffed the air, and though stale, the distinct scent of smoke still filled the room.

  That gave her pause. Had she somehow broken into the kitchen? Maybe her mental map of the manor was wrong. But if this were the kitchen, wouldn’t there be lights and people? No, this had to be another room, but what—

  Kess froze as her hand trailed over something else on the wall—a cool metallic surface with a tiny knob that seemed to vibrate under her touch. Kess pushed against it, curious.

  The switch flipped with a click. Suddenly the room was bathed in a blue green light, unnatural and sickly. With a start, Kess pulled her hand back as a tiny snap of her own Fulminancy crept towards the switch.

  “Fanas and Faleas,” she swore quietly.

  Lights. Rows and rows of them.

  The very same that adorned Hillcrest. A chill ran down her spine. Though most were damaged in some way by a fire or explosion, it was clear that they were varying prototypes, spread throughout the room. Some resembled the long bars she’d begun to see in the city, and others were a series of globes not unlike those which adorned poles outside of fighting rings. The assortment was intentional—an iteration on a design.

  The lights were practically the only standing fixture in the room, besides a long table, a ladder, and a few chairs which had clearly been brought in after the fact. Looking at the lights a little closer, Kess wasn’t entirely sure they had been here for the explosion. Someone had attempted to put the workshop back into some semblance of normalcy after a horrible accident, it seemed.

  But who would experiment with such a thing Downhill, and why? Were they building a weapon? Or just these awful lights?

  Shivering, Kess made her way to the door to the rest of the manor. The sooner she found Rowan, the sooner she could sort out her sleeping arrangements and get off her aching leg.

  She pushed on the door, in a hurry to leave, and felt it give way unnaturally beneath her touch. Her head thumped right into someone’s chest, and she looked up, surprised to find Rowan standing there.

  “Rowan,” she said, straightening. “I uh—Claire told me where you’d be, and so—“

  Rowan pushed past her, his eyes not on her, but on the lights overhead.

  “Did you do this?” he asked, gesturing towards the lights. Something about his tone was off—anger, perhaps? He didn’t seem to be the same man he was two days ago. That man had been idealistic to a fault. This man hardly dared to look at her.

  “There was some sort of metal thing on the wall,” Kess said, pointing. Rowan dug through a few piles of charred papers at the desk and emerged with a worn notebook and pencil.

  “It shouldn’t have turned on at all,” he said, writing. “Not without some sort of initial Fulminancy—which I assume you didn’t provide, given that you laughed me out of the room when I offered to help you learn it. I only just put those up last night, so it’s odd that Claire’s Fulminancy still works.”

  He muttered to himself quietly as he wrote, and Kess stood there awkwardly for a moment before she put two and two together.

  “Wait,” she said. “You’re the one making these? You’re that rock-lover who keeps putting these up all over the city? Are you mad? Who would want these in their homes, their businesses?”

  Rowan paused, then shut the notebook and regarded her, his gaze cold. There were a few tiny cuts that hadn’t been on his face two days ago, and his fine clothes were smudged with soot. “A fair few people considering I’ve just signed a deal with Lord Grandbow this very afternoon for more installations throughout the city.” Kess shook her head in disgust, but Rowan continued to watch her, his own gaze wary. “They’re perfectly safe. You, however, appear to come with much more baggage than you initially suggested.”

  He tossed a bundle of cloth at Kess’s feet. Kess scowled at him, but moved to pick up the bundle anyway. It was charred and smelled like the Drystorm winds, though the scrap of cloth could have been just about anything.

  “What is this?” she asked, turning it in her hands.

  “What was left of those men you murdered at Riverside.” His voice was clipped as he spoke. “A sash, perhaps, or an article of clothing. With so little left, it’s hard to tell.”

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  Kess nearly dropped the bundle, feeling sick. That night came roaring back. The Fulminancy weaving under her clothes, so different from her own. The laughter. The screams as she brought her own Fulminancy out to play. And then the empty, charred street before her, a damning reminder of the reality of using powers.

  Kess refused to meet Rowan’s eyes. She guessed she should feel something like shame for her actions. She hadn’t kept her word and men were dead because of it. But those men were Fulminant. Some small sense of relief washed over her, followed by another churning sense of shame. Those men were dead, yes, but at least that neighborhood would sleep better tonight.

  Hands shaking, Kess set the bundle of cloth down on Rowan’s workbench. She spun on Rowan, suddenly furious.

  “What exactly do you want from me?” she demanded. “An apology? Is this some sort of stormsick way of reminding me something I’ve spent my entire life trying to forget?” She paused, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. “I’ve tried to stop this from happening. I’ve avoided using them. I’ve tucked them away so deep that sometimes I can almost pretend to be normal for a moment.

  “But do you know the worst part? I’ll never be normal, Rowan. I’ll never once be free of this, no matter what I do or where I go. The best I can do is tuck them away.”

  “That’s what caused this,” Rowan said quietly. “Had you been able to control them, you would have been able to defend yourself from those men without destroying two city blocks—if they attacked you at all. A lack of control is no excuse to turn into a coward and a murderer every time you pick up your Fulminancy.” He seemed unaffected by her outburst, though Kess’s face grew warm with the thought of who might have heard her in the manor. “Fear caused this. Fulminancy is perfectly safe if you can control it.”

  “You’re wrong,” Kess said, sitting with a wince on one of the extra stools scattered about the room. Outburst gone, she felt like a piece of her had gone with it. “I came here to agree to your terms from the other day.” Rowan straightened a little at that.

  “Why would you come back here if you disagree with me?”

  “Because we need each other,” Kess said quietly. “And I…I don’t have any other options to find my brother.” She glanced at the flickering lights and felt a wave of nausea wash over her. “And if you’re really the foolish man putting those lights up all over the city, you’ll need someone to help you power them and experiment with them.”

  The statement twisted Kess’s insides, but Rowan nodded calmly, like she’d said the most reasonable thing in the world. He even looked a little relieved. He seemed to believe her, at least, though Kess had no such intention of working on her Fulminancy in any large quantity.

  “I meant what I said, Kess.” Rowan moved a little closer to the stool where she sat, notebook still in hand. His eyes rested on the lights overhead, then fell back on Kess. “You can learn to control them. Fulminancy is like any tool—used incorrectly and it can be dangerous, but in the hands of an expert, it can change worlds.”

  “Like you’ve already done with your lights,” Kess whispered, looking at them. Rowan smiled a little, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “We can only hope,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll—“ Rowan froze, frowning. Kess felt it before she saw it—a hum of power that vibrated her teeth and made the hair on her arms stand up. She turned on the stool, trying to find the source, before Rowan shouted and something slammed her off the chair.

  Kess’s head crashed into the cold ground, nearly knocking her out. Something—or rather, someone—pressed against her, their body weight making it difficult to breathe.

  Soon she found out why.

  Overhead, the snap of Fulminancy rattled the room, and the ground quaked beneath her hands. A searing heat passed overhead, even with the weight on top of her, and the crackling of glass and a few twangs of metal hitting the wall rang out through the air. Kess felt for her own Fulminancy like a forgotten reflex, and though a bit of it snapped into existence, it did little to stop the shards of glass from flying toward her arms. Her Fulminancy snuffed out, as if cowed.

  In seconds, it was over.

  The weight disappeared, and Kess rolled over, groaning at the pain in her head and leg. She blinked in the darkness. Did I hit my head that hard? She wondered. Then she realized.

  “Your precious lights explode?” she demanded. Rowan didn’t answer at first, though someone was rummaging in a cabinet to her left.

  “You were the last one who charged them.”

  “The last one who…I didn’t charge them,” Kess snapped. “I flipped them on.”

  “And yet your Fulminancy was in the system when they went.”

  Nearby, a lantern flared to life in Rowan’s hand. Kess got to her feet, surveying the damage. There hadn’t been much left of the workshop to destroy, not after—

  “This isn’t the first time, is it?” she asked slowly. Rowan pointedly avoided her eyes. “This has happened before. That’s why there’s soot on the wall. That’s why these prototypes are new. Your Fulminant lights are exploding. Fanas and Faleas above, you’re as much of a fool as I thought you were.” Kess laughed, the sound muffled in the tiny room. “And to think you had the audacity to lecture me about the safety of my powers while you play a dangerous game with those you don’t even have. Oh, that is rich, Lord Rowan.”

  “At least I didn’t kill an entire patrol.”

  “That patrol,” Kess bit out, “attacked me. What did the city do to you? Oh, wait.” Her tone took a nasty turn, but she couldn’t hide her rising frustration. He thought to lecture her on the safety of her powers? “They threw you out because you were a Dud. So you decided to try and make something of yourself by using a gift you weren’t given. And now what, Rowan? Surely you don’t intend to keep this all under wraps while you play politics Uphill.”

  “I do.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Rowan lowered the lantern onto the desk and stalked towards her, his face an ominous shadow. “I do intend to keep this under wraps,” he said, his voice soft. “The same way I imagine you wish to keep the news that you falsified your sash, took off with winnings you weren’t promised, and murdered an entire squad of Blueblades to yourself.”

  Kess shut her mouth immediately as Rowan continued, his expression slightly softer—though it was hard to fully read in the darkness. “You were right about one thing, Kess. We need each other. I can stabilize these, but I need funds and support to do so. Something bigger is going on.” He shook his head and looked at the lights, several of which were twisted and strewn about the room. “These shouldn’t have blown, even with your Fulminancy encouraging them. It’s getting less stable somehow.”

  “So you want to be in the thick of the Fulminant nonsense so you can get to the bottom of it.”

  “Which is where you need to be if you want to find your brother,” Rowan replied. “This is all connected somehow.”

  Kess crossed her arms, considering. Of course, she’d come intending to side with this man, but the explosion had given her pause. Still, Rowan was right—Oliver had been taken by the Fulminant not long after looking into this Fulminant insulator, which seemed to have some connection to the parlor explosion, and perhaps the explosions in Rowan’s lights. The connection was tenuous at best, but it was something.

  Kess let out a sigh and uncrossed her arms. Something stung, and blood trickled down her arm. Kess swore when she saw the piece of glass lodged there, and went to remove it, but Rowan caught her arm, frowning.

  “Didn’t you shield yourself?” he asked.

  “Shield myself? I—“

  “There was a flash that wasn’t the lights,” Rowan said, his voice thoughtful as he held her arm. “You should let Claire take that out instead of—“ Kess ignored him and tugged the small chunk out, flinging it to the ground as she met his eyes. Rowan sighed and released her arm, looking tired in the darkness. “I feel like I’m going to regret this partnership.”

  “I’m already regretting it,” Kess said. She moved to staunch the blood with the edge of her shirt, which was summarily ruined by the soot, anyway. Rowan went to retrieve his lantern, though his eyes remained for a very long time on Kess’s arm. What he found so fascinating about such a minor injury, Kess couldn’t fathom. Her ‘shield’ failing was nothing new. She’d never been able to use Fulminancy for self-defense—why would it work now?

  “Well,” Rowan said as they made their way to the door. “I, for one, have had enough of explosions for one week.”

  “I can’t say I disagree.”

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