Rowan found himself persistently nervous the night of the first gala. He’d tried everything—sparring with Arlette and Eamon until he could barely lift his arms, organizing the kitchen, and even running inventory of several warehouses that Eamon was worried about.

  None of it had helped.

  His family had pointedly ignored his letters about his return Uphill, and Rowan found himself slightly terrified at the prospect of seeing his father again. That was to say nothing of his work with Grandbow; the man pushed for expansions by the day, and Rowan hoped for better luck in person than through strongly worded letters. And, while he was at it, he hoped to find some way into the Archives.

  A bigger source of Rowan’s nervousness, however, was Kess herself. He straightened his jacket in the mirror, frowning at the way his curls refused to lie flat. He supposed he should have cut his hair shorter, but he liked to run his hands through it when he thought—a nervous habit his father had never broken him of.

  He rehearsed his words several times in his head and finally opened the door to the hallway. Kess’s small form leaned against the wall near his door, and her dark curls shifted slightly as she looked up at him with a wry smile, her dress a sparkling maroon and navy that hugged her figure in places that made Rowan forget every argument he’d ever had with her.

  “You clean up nicely,” she said, tugging at his jacket fondly. Heat crept into his face, along with confusion. Kess had been friendly with him during her weeks of recovery, an odd change from the thinly veiled barbs of months ago. Rowan wasn’t sure where that left them now. Though her insults were gone, occasionally she would slip into a chilly reverie, her eyes distant and unfocused. The contrast was so stark that Rowan wondered if two halves of the woman warred within. He tried to smile back.

  “You’ve got me beat though,” he said, and meant it. “You look better. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” she said, eyes growing distant again. Her face was still pale, and some of the weight of health was gone from her cheeks. Rowan saw how she picked at her food, and the weeks back at training—however light—hadn’t done her any favors. She was a woman running on too little, and Rowan found it hard to ask too much of her these days. They’d delayed their trip Uphill longer than either of them had intended—mostly due to some continued instability with Kess’s Fulminancy as it returned. Some of that instability had faded with a few weeks of hard work on her part, but Rowan still caught a tress or two of it creeping along her arm on occasion.

  “Claire gave me the go ahead for full training,” she said, looking at the wall. Rowan frowned, watching her.

  “Kess, you’ve been sneaking back into the warehouse for weeks now.”

  “And now I don’t have to sneak,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye. Rowan sighed, but it was good to see some color in her cheeks again. Maybe she could handle what he was about to ask. He heaved a breath and reached into his jacket, fishing for the piece of cloth.

  “I need you to do something for me, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “That seems to be a pattern with you, Rowan.” He ran his fingers through his hair with his other hand, avoiding her eyes.

  “A bad habit, I suppose.”

  He pulled a sash from his jacket—red and blue, the sash of a master Fulminancer. Kess’s face went sheet white. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had no other choice.

  “We’ve avoided court for too long,” he said. “I’ve lost some of the clout I had with Grandbow’s people, particularly by delaying for so long. Tonight we need to make a statement—and not one of weakness. If we show up wearing white sashes for modesty, we’ll just be ignored. But if we show up with this—“

  “They’ll have no choice but to pay attention,” Kess said grimly. She frowned, studying the wall again. “We could use my family colors,” she said quietly. He watched her for a moment, the fabric soft in his hands.

  “As secretive as you’ve been, I doubt you want us parading about your family colors at every Uphill party.”

  “Well, it’s a better option than that,” she said, gesturing to the sash with distaste.

  “Wear your family colors if you wish or if you think it’ll give us an advantage, but unless you’re a black sash, being Fulminant will help us more.”

  Kess stared at the sash in his hands for a long moment, something distant in her gaze. With the training sessions they’d had since her recovery, Rowan knew something had changed. The fear was still there, yes, and the hesitance, but over it all, a veneer of resignation, determination, and reluctant acceptance. Maybe Kess would always fight her Fulminancy, but now she was doing it on her own terms, like a fighter determined to learn their opponent inside and out. Which wasn’t a bad analogy given Kess’s past occupation.

  “So you want us to march into the Uphill with two falsified sashes,” Kess finally said, gesturing at his own black sash around his waist. “They’ll verify them and we’ll be caught.”

  “One falsified sash,” Rowan corrected. Kess looked at his black sash, a note of shock on her face. She let out a nearly inaudible ‘oh’. Rowan tried not to fidget. He’d always hated the reaction a black sash got him, but there were some advantages to being highborn.

  “In any case, Arlette did some work for us with her contacts,” he said. “Plenty of gamblers frequent these galas, and many of them benefit from the odds Arlette puts out each week to a select group of clients. Those clients have been fed information about the woman I’m courting for the weeks you were out of commission.

  “This woman,” Rowan continued, feeling his face grow warm as Kess gave him a little knowing smile, “has a significant background in running fighting rings around the city—both Fulminant and not—which shouldn’t be a hard persona for you to adopt.”

  “And this woman,” Kess said, staring at the sash doubtfully, “just happens to be Fulminant?”

  “Being Fulminant is respected Uphill,” Rowan replied, “but it’s not as rare as it is down here.” Granted, he thought. She probably knows that anyway. Still, it didn’t hurt to remind her. “We’ll be a lot freer to move around and make contacts Uphill if you’re part of Fulminant circles,” Rowan added. Something soured in Kess’s gaze as she fiddled with a tiny item in her hands—a Stormclap pin, Rowan realized. Something hardened in her gaze, and her mouth took on the stubborn set he was coming to associate with her doing something she found frustrating or distasteful. She pushed off the wall and stood up straight.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Do it,” she said, voice resigned. Rowan held up the sash again.

  “Do you want me to—“ She nodded and turned around for him to tie the sash. Rowan untied her white sash and instead looped the shining blue and red material around her waist, keenly aware of how close she was. They were this close when they trained, but somehow this was more intimate. He could smell her perfume and his fingers brushed past soft waves of curls that had been left out of the ties to rest over her bare back as he gently tied the sash around her waist, using the same knot that men used to tie their sashes at the side.

  Finished, he hesitantly placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards him, but she didn’t shy away. Something strange appeared in her gaze—something different from the distance when she remembered Draven or the fire when she tackled a problem. “Thank you,” Rowan said. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Kess shook her head, that strange look still on her face. “There’s nothing to thank me for,” she said, her voice quiet. “This is what I am, after all.”

  Fulminant. Something settled in Rowan’s gut. Before, where jealousy had been, a small spark of admiration took its place. Perhaps Kess’s powers were more of a curse than Rowan had originally believed, but that made her determination to accept and learn them that much more impressive.

  They stood like that for several moments, something quiet and private passing between them, and the distance seemed to grow smaller. Familiar shouting down the hallway shattered the moment like glass.

  “If you two don’t haul your asses into that carriage, I’m going to do it for you!” Rowan felt more than saw Kess jump and knew that he had done the same. Kess’s face flushed, but she laughed, the first time Rowan had seen it from her in a month. She looped her arm around Rowan’s and nodded towards the staircase.

  “If we don’t get going, I imagine Arlette’s going to make our other problems seem a lot smaller,” she said, eyes twinkling. Rowan smiled again and led them down the hallway.

  “Agreed.”

  Kess sat in the carriage with Rowan, listening to large, fat droplets as they slapped the carriage rooftop overhead. The beginning of Floodstorm season meant endless rain that other seasons only threatened, and the amber lights of the city did little to chase away the gloom.

  Still, the last few weeks in the manor hadn’t been unpleasant. It was the warmest and driest Kess had been since her first Floodstorm season Downhill, and while Draven’s death and her worry for Oliver still hung over her like a shadow, the slower pace of manor life had been better for Kess than she wanted to admit.

  Rowan had downright doted over her, which was an odd change in the man. Kess had always thought he seemed gruff and humorless, but she was beginning to realize that his quiet strength hid a man underneath that truly cared—lights notwithstanding.

  Rowan sat next to her, his leg warm against hers as he looked out at the gloom on his side of the carriage. What had changed? Months ago, it seemed he was unable to stand the sight of her. And yet, something had shifted in his attitude towards her. Perhaps her near death had simply softened him, but Kess had felt genuine happiness from the man when in her company. You don’t mind him either now, a tiny voice in her head reminded her.

  That much was true; he was quiet but thoughtful, and while Claire had nearly driven Kess mad, Rowan was careful to let her have just enough independence to feel like herself again. And he had kept his promise about the food. How could she hate a man who fed her well? He was a bit of a hypocrite with his exploding lights, but Kess had watched him work tirelessly to find a solution to those—indeed, tonight’s primary objective revolved around getting the resources to solve Rowan’s problem, though Kess had her own problem to focus on.

  She turned the Stormclap pin in her hands. She’d kept it with her since that night, alongside the original one from her home. Why had the Councilman had it? Perhaps it was simply a coincidence. Maybe the Stormclap board maker didn’t make every board unique. It didn’t seem like a coincidence to her, but Kess intended to find out, one way or another. Galas were filled with connected people—and more importantly, Stormclap enthusiasts. Perhaps this craftsman would know more about the man who’d attacked her, or perhaps he would have a lead on Oliver.

  “Do you remember our targets for tonight?” Rowan asked, startling her out of her thoughts. She wrinkled her nose, propping up her slippered feet on the bench across from them. If Rowan noticed the extra bit of skin she showed, he said nothing.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Kess—“

  She sighed, leaning her head back against the carriage wall. “Fine. You’re going to meet with Furion under the guise of looking for Fulminant fighters for the ring I supposedly bet on. Meanwhile, I’ll meet with his date Reina, assuming she’s not already in a brothel from her dealings with Furion.”

  Furion was a man Kess unfortunately remembered from years ago. She’d never had the misfortune of dealing with him, but word traveled; the man dealt in flesh, and that was probably the least objectionable thing about him. There were other rumors—rumors Kess didn’t even want to give thought to.

  “Why are you really meeting with him?” she asked as the carriage jostled them both. “If your reputation is already this bad, dealing with Furion won’t help.”

  “It’s because my reputation is bad that I need to deal with him at all. He’s not well liked, but he does have connections, and there are rumors he even deals with the Council occasionally.”

  Kess’s heart skipped a beat. “Regardless,” Rowan continued, “he has a reputation for…provoking Fulminant women, which is why I’d rather us split up tonight. If he seems like he won’t get under your skin too much, we’ll tackle him together next time.”

  Kess snorted, watching Rowan with a sideways glance. It would be hard for anything to blossom between them—after all, Rowan loved Fulminancy, and while Kess now tolerated it for the sake of her promise to Draven, using it was a bitter task that she still abhorred.

  “Like you know what gets under my skin,” she finally muttered. Rowan raised an eyebrow, but kept his gaze carefully fixed on the wall in front of them.

  “I’m getting better at it, though,” he said. Unfortunately, it was Rowan himself who got under her skin lately, and not always in a negative way. Something strange had happened when he tied her sash—something that Kess wanted to both run away from and towards at the same time. She took a deep breath, happy that some of her physical fitness was returning, at least. Attachment had never served her well, and wouldn’t here either. She had to keep her eyes on Oliver and off of Rowan, or she might be too late again.

  “We’re still new to the court,” Rowan went on, pointedly ignoring Kess’s pink face. “People don’t trust us, and we were missing for too long. But a woman who invests in fighting rings—particularly those that tout girls—that woman might have a more acceptable reason to talk to Furion than most would. It shouldn’t be as damaging to our reputation as it would otherwise. Your history in that industry certainly helps our credibility as well.”

  “I’m about as credible as Mariel’s left—“

  Kess was cut off as the carriage lurched forward, and she would have slammed into the wall across from them if Rowan’s arm hadn’t come forward in time. “Don’t finish that statement,” he said, a wry smile on his face. He peeked out the side of the carriage window, letting his hand fall to Kess’s thigh where it stayed. Warmth flooded into her cheeks, but she did little to remove his hand. These galas are going to be the death of me, she thought as Rowan shouted something at the driver.

  “Horse was spooked,” he said, closing the window and trying to dislodge some of the rain from his curls with the hand he’d left on Kess’s leg.

  “Can’t say I blame it,” she said as the storm came down heavier than before, a rhythmic drumbeat against the roof. “Nothing’s scarier than politics.”

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