I’m fairly certain that wasn’t part of our plan, Kess, Rowan thought, trying to hide his irritation from Grandbow as the man ran through a litany of complaints about his current clients—excluding Rowan, of course. Rowan had become somewhat of a golden child for Grandbow, it seemed, and if anything, his absence at court had allowed Grandbow to build a reputation Rowan both feared and appreciated.

  “Do you know how excited Lord Gilbert was to have your lights over the Stormclap room?” Cashin said, gesturing at the arch. He beamed at Rowan as he spoke, and clapped an arm around his shoulders, which drew a few irritated gazes from other Uphill inventors vying for the man’s attention. “They’re truly brilliant, Northmont, and with the right Fulminant nature, they become something beautiful, don’t you think? For those particular ones, Lord Gilbert requested Fulminancy with little to no color, and I think that might be the future. Bright, clean light that matches with just about everything. It’s exactly how I imagine sunlight.”

  Rowan smiled a little as he looked at the lights. They did look beautiful, particularly without colored Fulminancy. It’s nice to be appreciated, he thought, but some of his good cheer faded as he stared a little too long at the lights—and then at Kess, perched just beyond them, deeply involved in a Stormclap game she probably shouldn’t be. From a distance, it seemed she was holding her own—or at least not blowing the place to bits. Still, he needed to be quick with his own tasks in case she’d overestimated her own stamina and control. At least Grandbow seemed amenable to the idea of slowing the spread of his lights—for now.

  He turned to make excuses to Grandbow and find Furion instead—who’d eluded him most of the night in a frustrating game of tag—when Grandbow spoke again, half muttering to himself.

  “It was impossible to avoid,” he mumbled quietly, staring at those lights, his good cheer fading. “A risk and reward scenario for certain, and one that I find—“ He stopped himself, sighed, and looked at Rowan again, regret in his eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me, boy. They were just so clouding incredible that I couldn’t help it.”

  “Help what, Cashin?” Rowan asked, suddenly alarmed.

  “Well,” he said, avoiding Rowan’s eyes. “It was kind of you to suggest a more profitable light, but people have been clamoring for these things—even in their current state. They’re dim and half of them oddly colored, but even with sky-high prices, I sell far more than I can keep stock of. I’ve looked into expanding and—“

  “We discussed this via letter,” Rowan said carefully. “You agreed not to expand until I provided a new prototype.”

  “Yes, well…” Grandbow trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I’ve sold out to most Uphill commercial areas already. Every ball or gala this season will feature some of your lights. Think of it like a trial run to get your prototype into the world. The best kind of publicity is visual, after all.”

  Rowan felt the blood drain from his face. Uphill was bad enough, but—“Where else did you sell them to?”

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  “Residential areas, my boy.” There was some embarrassment in the man’s expression, but also a sort of religious fervor—as if he could see the gold minings he’d make with the lights already. “They’re functional, fashionable, and most importantly, profitable—even in their current state. And just imagine when you deliver the second half of that promise! We’ll be selling so fast your next task will be to make them faster and—“

  “No, Cashin.”

  The man froze, mid sentence.

  “What?”

  Rowan made a split second decision and pulled the man aside, away from prying ears. It was nearly impossible not to be overheard at a gala, but the room was large enough that Rowan was mostly certain he was far enough away from either servants or other attendants to be heard. He leaned towards Cashin and spoke quickly and quietly, regretting every word.

  “We can’t expand,” he whispered. “Not yet. Listen, I mention this strictly because of our partnership, but they’re not safe enough for homes yet—let alone commercial venues, but at least those leave more room in case of an accident.”

  “Accident?” Grandbow repeated. “What kind of accident?”

  “The same kind your parlors had,” Rowan replied, keeping his voice low. “I was hoping to find a way to fix the problem entirely before bringing it up to you, but I’m afraid my endeavors have been…slower than anticipated.”

  Cashin paled a little, and Rowan was certain his business partnership was finished. Instead, the man ran a hand through his hair and seemed thoughtful.

  “Well, that’s certainly not ideal—nor is the idea that you’ve been withholding information from me—but I understand your motivations to a certain degree. Are you at least working on a solution?”

  “I am,” Rowan replied quickly. “As quickly as possible. It’s possible I can fix them with some further research in the Archives.”

  Cashin laughed. “The Archives?” he asked, sounding amused. “Well, not even I can get you in there. You could try—“

  “Furion.”

  The man nodded, a note of distaste on his face. “He’ll make a deal with just about anyone—even you. I’ve been working on your image while you’ve been gone, boy, and let me tell you—it hasn’t been easy. You might find your station somewhat improved Uphill, but not if your father has anything to say about it. Furion is well connected, though. You have a shrewd mind for politics—though you’re much too honest for it.”

  “I wish that were so,” Rowan murmured. From a distance, he saw Fulminancy flare from Kess’s Stormclap board and hoped his problems wouldn’t be multiplying soon. “Cashin, we can’t say anything about this—not even to your investors, or the Council.”

  “Agreed,” he replied grimly. “Frankly, I’ve had quite enough of the Council’s dealings in my business.” He turned serious eyes back to Rowan. “Unfortunately, you know what has to happen if one of those blows.”

  Rowan swallowed and nodded solemnly. “I know.” Cashin would offer him up as a sacrifice to save his own reputation—and who could blame him? Rowan had saddled him with yet another enterprise that might end in tragedy and death—or at the very least, embarrassment. It was the only logical thing to do.

  Cashin clapped him on the back again, and some of the levity returned to his face. “I’m glad we understand each other,” he said. “Best of luck to you.”

  He left Rowan to meet up with a few clamoring inventors, his easy laughter echoing throughout the hall. Rowan stood there for a moment, watching the Stormclap room with unease, then decided to trust Kess and find Furion. He had enough problems of his own.

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