Kess found her new lodgings oddly comforting despite their proximity to Fulminant wards that hummed just outside her window. Many found the wards comforting—a sort of extra guard that would alert occupants to any trespassers or burglars. Kess mostly just found them unsettling. The woman Claire, at least, was far across the manor.

  After their incident in his workshop, Rowan had led Kess to Arlette—a bossy and distracted woman who looked at Kess like a butcher might look at a freshly slaughtered pig. Still, she’d been gracious enough to offer lodging and food, and had turned down Kess’s payment when she’d offered.

  “Your work with Rowan is payment enough,” she’d said. Kess doubted that, but debt was a powerful tool and obviously one this Arlette wished to use.

  Of course, it quickly became apparent that Kess wouldn’t have much of anywhere else to go.

  “Bounty?” Kess asked. She’d visited Arlette’s tiny office a week later, intending to offer to run errands for the woman—anything to escape the manor and pay down some of the debt that she was certain she was accruing. Instead, Arlette bade her to stay inside.

  Arlette sighed, clearly impatient. She carried herself like a much younger woman, but Kess saw from the fine lines around her eyes that she was already well into her thirties. “Of course. You thought that blowing several blocks of the city sky high, falsifying your sash, and reneging on your deal as a Bloodcrawler wouldn’t have consequences? Finding people like you is exactly why they encourage lower city rings so much. You’re a marked woman.” Her eyes fell on the lightning mark on Kess’s cheek, fading some, but still very visible. “In more ways than one,” she added. “Though you did make me a tidy sum off that fight—excellent work, by the way. The odds of you surviving that were one in five thousand, two hundred and fifty-six.”

  She chuckled to herself and went back to scrawling in her tiny notebook. Kess said nothing. Of course, she’d known what she was doing, but in the light of the day, she wondered if it had been particularly wise or well thought out. All the chaos would have been worth it if she had been able to leave the city, but without her brother, it seemed rather foolish.

  “Why not turn me in, then?” Kess asked. “If I’m worth as much as you say, you’d never have to work again.”

  Arlette snorted, sharing a look with Rowan, who stood in the corner, hand on his sword—damnable man. “We’ll manage. The funds I made from your fight in Redhill should put the manor up for the next year. Besides helping Rowan, you’re free to do as you wish, but I doubt you’ll be welcomed back into your old life, anyway.” Something dropped in Kess’s stomach. She hadn’t thought of that. With a bounty on her head, she would be hard pressed to fight again. Maybe I can convince someone in the Pits to let me in anonymously, she thought. It seemed unlikely, but she would have to try. That, or learn the hard way just how effective fighting had been for containing her Fulminancy.

  At least her debt to Arlette wouldn’t come knocking for some time. Kess left the tiny office and spent the next week limping around the manor, trying to keep that snapping feeling from eating at her. Her Fulminancy, apparently, didn’t appreciate being told to wait.

  The bounty on her head was vague, at least. A few days into what Kess considered her captivity, Arlette sent her a rather amusing drawing of a woman that looked almost nothing like Kess, albeit with the mark of Fulminancy running across her cheek. It was stamped with a dizzying reward.

  Finally, after spending another night tossing and turning, her Fulminancy a burning presence inside of her, Kess gave up and sought the roof.

  She shoved open the wooden door—tucked away in an alcove against the weather—and breathed in the scent of the cooler night air. The Drystorm was calm tonight, the winds having finally died down in preparation for the next season. Shopkeepers were making sales several streets over, the markets open late to catch any last-minute customers before people tucked away in sturdier buildings. Wealthier merchants would have accommodations in stone buildings connected to neighborhoods directly so that they could sell their wares without interference from the fierce lightning of the Lightstorm.

  Kess leaned against the stone railing and sighed. Her clothes and hair were clean, courtesy of the manor’s miraculous plumbing. She’d nearly burst into tears the first time she’d turned the faucet and found steamy water flowing out. Her wounds were even healing up well in spite of her escape from Claire, though her leg did still ache fiercely. She would be ready to exercise again in a few days, or so she hoped.

  She looked up at the glowing light of the Uphill, the lanterns lit so prominently that the same glow cast itself on her skin even this far away—an odd hue that mixed the amber glow of the Downhill with the greens and blues of Rowan’s Fulminant lights. Somewhere up there, Oliver was being kept. Was he a prisoner? Injured? Dead? Kess hoped that the Council’s business with her brother was simply a deal gone wrong, instead of some kind of attempt to lure her back Uphill.

  Kess fished under her shirt idly for her mother’s locket. The touch of her skin warmed the chain and the locket, and the wind seemed to still where she held it. It gleamed gold against the glow of the city, the face inset with seven tiny fire opals. It was probably worth a fortune, as were the two buried at the bottom of her bag and stuffed underneath the mattress with the fight gold back in her room. Kess had never had the heart to sell it, though she could barely look at the thing.

  Tonight, as she flipped it open, the world disappeared around her.

  Screams tore through her ears, distant yet immediate. A Lightstorm raged overhead, uncharacteristic for the water that it brought. Her Fulminancy, untamed and wild, dancing with the storm. The coppery scent of blood filled her nose. Blood, and something else. Death.

  Kess snapped the locket shut and put her head in her hands, driving the memory away. Shaking, she tucked the locket well beneath her shirt again, its presence somehow both calming and terrifying at the same time. It was a reminder of that night so long ago—that night when everything had gone wrong.

  What would Oliver think of me trying to learn Fulminancy of all things? She wondered idly. He would probably say it made her no different—that her powers were a tool to be used—but Kess could hardly think of them that way. They were for destruction and death. Even Oliver’s innocent Stormclap board had destroyed her home. Maybe some Fulminant were gifted with powers that would help them save, but Kess’s would only destroy. She would have to fake using them in front of Rowan. Maybe there was a way to—

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  “So, do you make a habit of blowing up the entire street when you use your powers?” Kess spun to find Rowan standing there in the alcove, his curled hair mussed in the light wind.

  “Faleas’s scorn. Do you have nothing better to do than scare a woman half to death in the middle of the night?” She turned back to the glowing city, her heart finally slowing again. Behind her, footsteps echoed.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “It’s really none of your business, Rowan. We’ll work on them tomorrow.”

  So far, Kess had eluded the man. She’d found excuses to explore the manor, and even a few to sneak back into the city. She didn’t go far, but Kess was good at finding areas to tuck away. Rowan hadn’t gotten much of a chance to deal with Kess’s powers at all, which seemed fair given that she hadn’t gotten a chance to make her way Uphill yet.

  The footsteps stopped beside her. “So you’ve been saying for the last month,” he said, some humor in his voice. “Is that usually what happens when you use them? Or is this a new occurrence?”

  Kess met his eyes, scowling. Even in the dark, it was hard to miss that Rowan was a handsome man, his hazel eyes a pleasant contrast with his dark hair and strong features. He stood tall and straight-backed, as if life in the Downhill hadn’t beaten him down yet, but then, Kess figured he was fairly young. Perhaps a few years older than her. He would have been the talk of the court in another lifetime, perhaps, but, well, neither of them lived that life anymore. They would fake it, but they would never belong again.

  She turned back to the city. “I don’t make a habit of using powers that might explode at any given time.”

  “The rest of Hillcrest doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

  “The rest of Hillcrest thinks Fulminancy is safe.”

  “And why don’t you?”

  Kess hesitated, her eyes on the glowing market below. As antagonistic as Rowan had been, it was odd hearing that slight note of genuine curiosity in his voice. Maybe his last few weeks have been as bad as mine, she thought, risking a glance at him. His eyes were softer now as he stared out over the city. Thoughtful. Tired, perhaps. Kess watched her hands dangling over the side of the railing, and tried, at least, to be honest with him.

  “Because there’s something else lurking inside of it,” she said, following the line of lanterns as they wove their way Uphill and crashed into the unnatural light of Rowan’s creations. “Something bigger than me. Something I have no control over, even if I learned to wield it like everyone else. When I use it, it’s like…like someone else has control over it. Like it wants something, and whatever it is, I can’t provide it.”

  Kess fell silent and glanced at Rowan again. He appeared thoughtful, at least, though Kess felt foolish for bringing up her odd relationship with Fulminancy in the first place.

  “You’re implying that Fulminancy is sentient?” he finally asked.

  “I—“ It somehow sounded more foolish out of someone else. “Forget I said anything. It doesn’t really make any sense.”

  “It makes about as much sense as you ignoring your Fulminancy and hoping the problem will go away.” His voice took on some of the bitterness from the days before as he gestured towards Riverside. “Are you satisfied with that? What exactly are you waiting for? The day when Fulminancy kills you or someone you care about?” He shook his head. “I didn’t know Oliver particularly well, but he never struck me as someone who was satisfied with ‘good enough’. Clearly it doesn’t run in the family.”

  Kess balled her hands into fists, the skin turning white with pressure. She whirled on Rowan, eyes stinging. “Don’t bring my brother into this. Before this Fanas-spawned squall of a month, I was leaving this place, and as soon as I find my brother and make sure he’s safe, I’ll finish the job.”

  Rowan didn’t react to her outburst, or her choice of god. “So you were running.” Kess turned back to the city, trying to hide the tears that sprung into her eyes. What’s wrong with me? I can’t even look strong in front of strangers anymore. Something had changed with the use of her power—a clawing, gnashing beast that roared its anguish, ready to devour her. Using it had been an acknowledgment of everything she sought to push down to the bottom of a deep pit, to deal with another day.

  “If that’s what you want to call it, then sure,” she replied coolly. Beside her, Rowan shook his head again as if disappointed, or perhaps bewildered.

  “Why would you want to run? With that much power, you could become a Seat. They’re the most influential people in Hillcrest. You could change things—really make life better for people Downhill and Uphill alike. Why in Mariel’s gray skies would you throw away something like that?”

  Kess kept her eyes firmly fixed on the glowing buildings, though she felt her muscles tense up at the mention of the Seats.

  “It’s good to know that your idealism survived your time Downhill, but the Seats aren’t looking out for our best interests,” she replied. What was wrong with this man? Who would want the ability to snap femurs like twigs—to bring down city blocks, to leave blood and destruction and death in their wake?

  Rowan let out a humorless laugh. “It takes a special kind of person to complain about the very system they’re unwilling to change.”

  “Oh? What kind of person is that?”

  “A coward.” There was a finality to his tone, like the conversation was over. A cool wind blew back tresses of Kess’s hair, and she felt the truth to his words, and hated him for it.

  “Perhaps I am,” she said, voice low. “But would you blame a monster, who, born into a set of teeth that took the life of everyone they loved, starved instead of using them again? Would you blame a serpent who remained apart from everything it loved, rather than squeeze the very life out of everyone it held dear?”

  Her leg stung as a rumble of thunder quaked through the building. “Men were cowards long before they were brave, Rowan. Who built the shelter for the brave man to return to after fighting the beasts? Not another brave man.”

  Silence met her words, and Kess continued, her temper spurring her on.

  “And what of you? Here you have an invention that might make my incident at Riverside seem downright innocent, and you want to leave it in people’s homes where they sleep? So you can play politics? Tell me, Rowan, was the Downhill too much for you? Did you cast off your golden shackles Uphill only to find it wasn’t so welcoming down here?” She laughed bitterly. “Just another Fulminant-loving Uphill boy seeking out adventure a few blocks away from home. You’re all the same, powers or no powers.”

  This time, Rowan didn’t smile.

  For several long moments, the wind was her only company, and she dared hope she had chased Rowan away with her vitriol. But he shifted beside her, and his tall, powerful form was hard to forget about again.

  “Well, that’s charming,” he finally said. “You not only have problems with the Fulminant, who, I might add, have committed the egregious crime of being born that way, but also with anyone born Uphill.” He paused, regarding her with a long, knowing gaze. “And yet you’re both of those things, aren’t you? You hate the Fulminant, and yet you use your powers when it’s convenient to you. You hate the Uphill, and yet Fulminancy nasty enough to destroy two city blocks doesn’t spring up from just any mixed bloodline. So you’re not just a coward, but a hypocrite.”

  There was a nasty edge to his voice.

  “Rich coming from a man who lectures me about safety and duty while he plays games with the lives of people he’ll never meet. Tell me, Rowan, what exactly am I so afraid of?”

  She met his eyes. The wind whipped up his curly tresses of dark hair, and she felt the warmth coming from his broad frame in the chill night air.

  “Yourself,” he finally replied. Rowan strode away into the stairwell, the sound of his boots fading within seconds, but his words lingering much longer.

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