Kess trudged her way through the throngs of people occupying Dawnring, thanking her luck. It was early afternoon, and though by all estimates Rowan should have been awake by now, he’d been quietly asleep by some contraption in the library. Kess had used the opportunity to leave the manor in search of another solution to her problem with Fulminancy: fighting.

  Her experience in the warehouse had been a shocking success—it was the first time she’d managed not to destroy the building she was in. Still, though her Fulminancy was now drained, it was as if simply acknowledging it had popped the lid on her powers. She was exhausted, but still her powers prickled at her skin, a wild and enduring force that threatened to boil over.

  In this middle tier of Downhill, people were out for some of the final days of the Drystorm, trading, laughing, and stealing, a whirlwind of human emotions. Kess was nearly robbed twice, but both boys—young and inexperienced—were turned away by their ears before they could get their hands on her coin.

  For better or worse, she’d left most of her coin back at the manor. If it hadn’t been stolen this morning, it would likely be safe there for a few hours. Kess cut down several flights of stairs, dodging a shopkeeper brave enough to enter the crowd of people, and ducked through gathering fog into the mountain itself, where grates clanked under her boots. Here, the water would stream away from shops and businesses during Floodstorm season—most of the time, anyway.

  Even if it didn’t, anything would be better than dealing with Witchblades again, and the Pits weren’t particularly fond of their company. Even Rowan’s stormsick rock-loving visage would be more welcome than running into more Fulminancers, she supposed.

  Arlette’s warning about Kess’s new reality in the rings was chief on her mind. Perhaps she was right, and Kess’s career was over for now—but Kess had to see for herself. Even if she still had a slight limp. Even if the mark of Fulminancy left her easily identifiable. It was a foolish hope, but if Kess could get deep enough into the Downhill, it was possible no one would recognize her, especially with such a bad rendition of her on the wanted ads. Hillcrest was a big place.

  Rowan’s words, though he’d tempered them later, had simply encouraged her. If anything, she’d needed to escape from the manor for the simple fresh air, sights, and sounds of the city. She was as much a prisoner in that Redring manor as she’d ever been in a Whitering jail cell, just of a different variety.

  Kess followed several more flights of stairs into the darkness of the mountain and left familiarity behind. Here, amber lights were sparse for fear of thievery, and residents watched more carefully. Forgebrand’s presence was lacking here, and it didn’t go unnoticed. They sometimes patrolled less legitimate parts of the city, but Forgebrand considered the mountain’s depths too illegitimate even for them. Here, few laws were followed, especially in the streets.

  She kept her hood pulled low, a part of her heart fluttering at every glance that could mean she’d be beaten or worse, but the feeling of Fulminancy crawling uncomfortably just inside of her skin was enough to keep her moving.

  There were nicer parts of the underground, deep inside the mountain—areas where taverns, shops, and people clustered together, beacons of warmth and sound, and people’s clothes stayed drier even during the worst months of weather.

  The area Kess entered was nothing like the central areas of underground Hillcrest. The Pits, as locals called them, were a series of winding tunnels carved out long ago from mining expeditions deep within the mountain. Dark and wet even during dry seasons, the tunnels had a habit of ending in caved in sections—both new and old.

  Of course, it didn’t stop people from doing business there. The Pits were far from Witchblades and respectable people alike, which made them the perfect place for business of the unsavory variety. Still, Kess knew several respectable shopkeepers who’d gotten their start down in the Pits; it was easy to save coin for expansions when your rent was nearly free.

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  Kess trotted down a set of wooden steps into a tavern so dank there was condensation running down walls carved into the mountain itself. The wood rotted away beneath her feet, breaking off tiny chunks where she stood. Ignoring the glances of patrons that were on several forms of narcotics, Kess palmed a coin and plopped it down on the filthy bar.

  “A fight,” she said, keeping her voice low. Like most taverns, this one had a ring for women and a ring for men, as was required by law. Lawlessness or not, no tavern owner wanted to bring Witchblades or other unpleasantries down on their establishment, even if the odds were low. The separate rings were an easy way to pay visible homage to the Uphill’s laws on rings. Officially endorsed Bloodcrawler women were supposedly immune to prostitution, but Kess doubted that the rule held down here.

  The man at the counter sniffed, his head balding and his belly protruding. Thin wisps of greasy hair ran past his ears. He eyed the side of her face where even the hood couldn’t quite hide the mark from her last fight.

  “We don’t serve the Marked here,” he said, taking the coin. A few heads turned her way, trying to peek beneath her hood.

  “Since when?” she demanded. She eyed the ring wistfully, desperate to feel the crunch of her fist against another’s face. It was so close. The bald man leaned down towards her, but did very little to keep his voice down.

  “Since the clouding rock-lovers up there put out a bounty for Bloodcrawlers as are Marked,” he hissed between broken teeth. “All of ‘em.”

  What am I doing? Kess thought, some tiny part of her realizing how foolish she’d been. This type of foolishness was something she did to forget, but when would her luck run out?

  A knife thunked into the bar next to her, and Kess jumped, eying the doorway. Too late, she thought.

  “The bounty’s large enough to put a man up in Blackhill,” another voice said behind her, leaning over. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and feel the warmth of his body as he leaned over her. The stench of mildew on his clothes was strong.

  Kess pulled her shoulders back and put her head up high, dredging up years of lessons from a past life. There would be no getting out of this, not without a distraction. She would just have to be that distraction.

  “My father can put all three of you up in Blackhill if you let me go,” Kess said, fighting to keep her voice steady. A bold lie. Her family was long gone.

  One man guffawed behind her, but Kess was already palming a knife from the folds of her cloak. She wouldn’t get to brawl in an arena tonight, but she’d get something, at least.

  Or she’d be dead by morning.

  “Lass why would we let you go when the bleeding Witchblades are already on their way?”

  “You know what they say,” another added. “A cloudspawn in the hand is worth two in the bush.” Kess’s head snapped up.

  “You called the Witchblades?” she hissed. “What kind of stormsick—“

  “We don’t work for no Forgebrand down here, and we don’t work for no Fulminant neither,” the bartender said, watching her. “We work for whoever pays the best.”

  Kess eyed him, weighing the impact of dumping as much gold as she had onto the counter. It wasn’t much, but—

  “I said I’d pay you all handsomely,” she said through gritted teeth. She glanced at the door again. It really wasn’t very far. If she could just—

  Something whistled by her head, and Kess ducked instinctively. A bottle crashed into the wall, thrown by the bartender, but Kess was already moving.

  She swept one of the men’s legs out from under him, her injured leg screaming in protest, and tossed him down with a quick shove of the shoulder. Surprise got her that alone. She tried to shove him towards his companion, and ran, using the chaos of the two tangled men as a chance to escape.

  She made it as far as the underground hallway before she skidded to a halt, coin in hand, as two Witchblades stopped in shock. Fulminancy crept into their hands to form swords, and Kess swore. Behind her, voices and shouting indicated that her brief distraction in the bar wouldn’t be enough.

  She took a step forward.

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