The evening’s festivities were held at Lord Gilbert’s mansion, and Kess had to admit the man’s accommodations were practically made for the rainy season. Carriages pulled up to a covered terrace where raised stones kept water away, and guests entered impressive manor doors without encountering the raging storm outside.

  Inside, wooden cathedral ceilings were decorated with thousands of tiny amber lights, and the logistics of having to light each globe made Kess’s head spin. Thick sheets of rain, oppressive outside, felt cozy against the roof far overhead, a dull drone that hushed away the lull of conversation. The rectangular main hall where most patrons held court was brighter than the adjoining rooms, where lights were dimmed and patrons could watch rain hitting the panes while having dinner, playing Stormclap, or conversing in smaller groups.

  Rowan’s presence was a comforting warmth by her side, and Kess—oddly—felt confident. Her powers had nearly killed her that night, but perhaps that brush with death had given her less to fear. She wore the blue and red sash with mock confidence, her head held high and her shoulders back. She imagined the confidence that would come from years of training and honing her powers—the assuredness that would come from a life without the worry that everything could be taken from you. And indeed, if she worked to hone these powers, it might be hers to grasp.

  There was still the minor problem that she wanted nothing to do with her Fulminancy, or anyone else’s, for that matter. But she would learn to control it for Draven’s sake—and for Oliver’s.

  “There’s Furion,” Rowan said beside her. The man was on the far right side of the room near the fireplace, his thin wisps of hair a faint reminder of what had once been there years ago. He chatted animatedly with Lord Sandulf—a man Kess knew was fond of war, who believed that man’s oldest vice could solve just about any woe. His muscled bulk made Furion look small.

  Rowan smiled at her and took her hand, kissing it while he looked up at her. She met his eyes and felt the pit of her stomach drop away. “Try not to get into too much trouble,” he said, eyes dancing. Kess put on a mask of mock surprise to hide her blush.

  “I don’t know what would give you such a preposterous idea.” The smile spread to Rowan’s eyes, and he let go of her hand and walked away, a lilt in his step that Kess wondered at. Did he believe their gala flirting was real? It was a part they both played, but well, maybe she was falling for it as well. It didn’t help that the weeks they’d spent together had been so clouding pleasant.

  Frowning at her impending headache, Kess eyed the Stormclap boards sparkling in a dimly lit room to the side. She felt some of her confidence evaporate at the sight of the flashing Fulminancy within.

  It was true that the weeks spent recovering had improved her Fulminancy. Working with so little of it had been a good stepping stone to dealing with the larger quantities Kess usually found herself with. Even now, she felt significantly less of it churning inside. It was possible she would have the control for a game of Stormclap—but did she really need to play at all?

  Yes, she realized. If she didn’t play, she would be noticeable. People would wonder why she didn’t partake in such a beloved game. And tonight, Kess wanted information—information that would be much easier to gather through the distraction of a Stormclap game. Not to mention, her questions about the craftsman behind her pin would seem odd if she wasn’t a fan of the game itself. No, she would have to figure out a way to play, one way or another.

  Kess hesitated for a moment, then strode to the bar and returned to her oldest vice. She was grateful for once for the relatively low strength of the alcohol. She’d always been more than capable of holding her liquor, but there was still a nagging sense of illness and weakness at the edge of her perception, like a bone that had only just knitted together, or a wound as it pulled and twisted beneath the healed surface.

  Kess sipped at her drink slowly, then forced herself towards the Stormclap room, her steps mechanical. It was set in an alcove off the side of the main ballroom, through an arch inset with multiple Fulminancy-filled globes—Rowan’s globes. Kess tried not to stare as she remembered the heat of that explosion months ago in Rowan’s workshop. For his sake, I hope they don’t blow at one of these, she thought.

  The room itself was dimly lit, not with Fulminancy, but with soft lanterns propped up at each table to give players soft light. Rain streamed down the far windows that made up the back half of the room, and the flash of both Fulminancy and lightning periodically lit the room more brightly than the provided lanterns.

  Most boards were occupied with players, bent with concentration, their scrunched faces illuminated by Fulminancy as it flashed around the boards. A few tables towards the back contained a gaggle of Fulminant women who mostly gossiped rather than played. Kess almost joined them, but paused in the doorway, unsure.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  After a moment of hesitation, Kess found a much better prospect and trailed through the room towards a series of increasingly nicer Stormclap boards. Several men gathered around a few of them, comparing pins or board layouts, though no boards bore resemblance to Oliver’s.

  A few men actually played, though they took a moment to spare Kess a doubtful glance as she passed them. Kess, fortunately, found a more willing participant in a far alcove of the room near the windows, fortuitously sitting at a board that seemed familiar to Kess.

  A woman sat there, though she simply stared out of the window, alone, a glass of wine in hand. Her hair was so blond as to be almost white, and her eyes an odd turquoise as she watched the storm. Kess couldn’t quite believe her fortune as she made her way over to the woman. If descriptions were right, then this would be—

  The woman looked up from the window, noticing Kess, then smiled at her and motioned. Kess joined the woman, sitting nervously as her heart fluttered at the sight of the board. It wasn’t quite the same as hers, but it was eerily similar—surely by the same maker. She looked up at the other woman and tried to smile.

  “I’ve heard much about you, Lady Reina, but I never took you for much of a Stormclap fan,” Kess said carefully. She’d at least had plenty of time to brush up on her knowledge of court, though she’d spent little to no time there in her youth. Her time after Draven’s death hadn’t been a complete waste, at least. She would have had a difficult time navigating court with next to no knowledge of its players.

  Reina smiled impishly at her.

  “My date, unfortunately, is rather boorish and uninteresting,” she said conspiratorially. She leaned forward as she spoke, though the surrounding tables were unoccupied. “Not all of us are as lucky as you are.” She gestured towards where Rowan spoke with a man Kess was fairly certain was the Grandbow of his letters and sponsorship. “He’s quite the catch.”

  “Most of Uphill disagrees,” Kess replied, though she felt a little guilty admitting it. “He has, after all, been disowned.”

  Reina waved at her dismissively. “The Uphill disowns people more often than they throw parties,” she said. “At this point, it would be better for them to just admit that they throw out anyone with talent or a penchant for real change in Hillcrest.” She paused, then turned to survey Kess again as Kess fought to keep her face straight. “But he’s not really why you’re here, is he?” Kess felt a prick of nervousness run up her arm—or perhaps it was Fulminancy. “You’re here for something else, or you wouldn’t have cornered me alone at a Stormclap board.”

  “In fairness, you were sitting here first.”

  “Well, I always say that success is where opportunity meets a well-positioned woman.”

  “I find this particular Stormclap craftsman to be fascinating,” Kess said, running fingers alongside the board, avoiding Reina’s eyes. “But…perhaps I simply wanted a game.”

  Reina regarded her for a moment, her odd eyes careful. “Is that all? Well, I can certainly oblige you, though I must warn you that boredom has made me quite the player. I sit alone over here because most of the room knows better than to play me.”

  Kess immediately cursed her suggestion. Politics was never my forte, she thought desperately, glancing at Rowan across the room. He seemed relaxed, at least. She returned her eyes to the board, feeling slightly nauseated. Still, she thought. If I can get Reina playing, then maybe she’ll keep talking. It was one of the many strategies for gathering information at court. People were often unwilling to part with information or gossip out in the ballroom, but in the quiet, intimate setting of the Stormclap alcove, with the distraction of the game, they’d often let more slip. And well, Kess did understand the strategy of Stormclap, even if she wasn’t sure she could handle the Fulminancy of it.

  Kess took a deep, steadying breath that she hoped Reina didn’t notice, then drew out a tendril of Fulminancy, letting it fly into the board.

  “Let’s play,” she agreed. Reina smiled and let a tendril of her own Fulminancy—a shade of gray—snake into the board, lighting the pieces and snapping lines of lightning around the board.

  “How does a friendly wager sound to you?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “I win, I get to know why you’re really here. You win, and you can ask me anything you wish—though I might know something about this board’s craftsman, if that’s what you’re interested in. You won’t find him here tonight,” she added, as Kess looked behind her at the group of men. “But without you winning a game, I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

  Kess frowned, turning back to Reina. “Your request is a little more specific.”

  “A stipulation that works out in your favor, the way I see it,” she said, moving a few pins into the correct spots.

  Kess was no fool. She knew Reina would receive information, regardless. Whatever Kess asked would give her a wealth of knowledge she hadn’t had before, even if Kess was careful with her wording. Still, it wasn’t a bad bet, and the game would get the woman talking—a fair goal for Rowan’s situation with Furion as well as Kess’s own search for answers.

  Kess took another deep breath, and, trying to hide the shaking in her hands, brightened a piece with her Fulminancy. It held, but it took more out of her than she’d anticipated. A single bead of sweat rolled down her back.

  I hope Rowan has better luck than me, she thought, and moved a piece.

  “I’m in.”

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