Only instinct kept Kess moving through the city as she left a trail of blood in her wake. It was attracting the wrong kind of attention, but Kess didn’t have to look to know she would be followed.

  Her actions in the ring wouldn’t be tolerated— not once the fight organizers had a chance to get their wits about them. She limped down a set of steps, muffling a cry as searing pain lashed out from her leg.

  Whether Kess had killed or badly wounded the girl, it didn’t matter. An action had been taken against the Fulminant, and it would send a message— one that the Council would never tolerate, especially without the proper sash. Fighting in Downhill rings with even a hint of Fulminancy and no blue sash to speak of was already a grave violation, and since Kess had likely ruined the carefully run betting racket for the night, they’d be that much more keen to bring her in.

  She glanced at the envelope address— now caked in blood— and skidded around another corner, taking as many twists and turns as she knew. She slid into a wall, her flight uncontrolled, and her vision tunneled. Scrunching her eyes together, she willed herself to keep going.

  She wasn’t sure if these people would have answers, but they were her last clue to finding her brother. She had to at least talk to them before—

  Kess swore and paused, sliding into a small storm shelter nearly collapsed with age. I’ve been a fool, she realized, digging through her bag. There was nothing but an extra shirt for binding her worst wound, but she tore it into strips and did so anyway. Blood loss was addling her mind; she’d been leading the Witchblades straight down her path.

  With a tiny grunt, she tugged on the makeshift bandage and stopped the worst of the bleeding, though the other wound on her shoulder leaked freely onto her shirt. She was dizzy and sick, but at least this would keep her pursuers from following— for now.

  A few streets later Kess realized that her actions had been in vain. The blood trail was gone, yes, but even though she’d been unpredictable in her path, she was slowed by her injuries. There was no sign of the Shadowy pursuer from the other night, though Kess imagined they were lurking on a building above somewhere, perhaps directing the Witchblades.

  She gripped her shoulder and ducked under another series of storm shelters, the wood creaking under her feet. Behind her, shouts erupted. Kess shoved a curious woman back into her home as she flew down the docks and burst out into another wide street. Perhaps she couldn’t evade her pursuers entirely, but she could at least get to a place where an altercation wouldn’t produce casualties.

  Dawnring went past in a blur, and Kess entered the abandoned area of the city between Dawnring and Whitering— a series of empty squares and shops that had once been more populated before the river had disabused people of the notion of living in an easily flooded area. The Drystorm was at its peak now, and the wind buffeted her small frame as she rounded another corner, feet flying underneath as fast as they could carry her.

  She limped through a wide but empty city square, then ducked into an alleyway littered with refuse and pieces of broken wood. Winded, she stopped for a moment, gasping at the pain in her shoulder and leg.

  Her head spun, and she nearly tasted the street, but she shook her head and forced herself onward. Perhaps she could yet lose the shouting men in the tangle of empty streets within.

  Her boots slid under her as she rounded another corner and almost lost her footing, her leg screaming in protest. Another alleyway appeared, and she dove into it, then reeled to a stop. There was a tiny space between two buildings— far too small for any man to follow.

  She ducked inside, and emerged in a similar alleyway, but something was wrong. She froze and blinked in a blue light.

  The light of Fulminancy.

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  Kess tried to slide back into the gap, but a Witchblade yelled, and she scrambled away from her only exit as a wall of lightning crawled up the gap like a trellis of vines. Strong arms caught her and slammed her into the ground.

  Kess coughed, air momentarily gone from her lungs. Her vision swam, dark and threatening to leave entirely. When it did come back, a flash illuminated her captor— a Witchblade, his uniform blue and pressed. He pressed a humming Fulminant sword to her throat, his face stern. Behind him, four more men jogged up, tresses of light snaking up each soldier’s arm in turn.

  That’s it then, she thought. She closed her eyes as the men complained to one another, though her captor never took his weapon away. Kess’s mind spun, desperately looking for a way out. She wouldn’t find her brother from a jail cell, but she’d be lucky for them to take her to a regular cell at all.

  From the sound of the conversation, it was clear that they didn’t really know who Kess was. She was small and unimportant now, but the moment a connection was made, there would be a much bigger fuss in the city.

  There would be no escape for her tonight. Here she had delivered a prize to the Fulminant without so much as a hint of resistance. Kess cursed her own stupidity as the men closed the perimeter around the alleyway. What did you expect, Kess? These men are professional soldiers, trained to kill. And you’re just a…The thought trailed off. What was she? She tried not to think about it often. It would do her no good in the here and now. Regardless, she wouldn’t be able to save her brother; she couldn’t even save herself.

  I can’t let them take me, she thought. But what option did she have? She had no weapon, she was grievously injured, and escaping would only leave witnesses. She would have to…to…

  One of the men hauled her to her feet, pinning her arms behind her. Leaving them alive would be a death sentence to Kess— and more importantly, to Oliver.

  Her hands began to tremble, even as they were held. Her mind threatened to rebel.

  Images flashed through her mind, brutal and vivid. A room filled with blood. The wind howling. Men screaming and dying. The acrid smell of Fulminancy snapping in the air.

  “Figures we’d get the bad end of the deal,” one man muttered, peering at Kess. “Always the runners.” He held up a crackling hand towards Kess, and she flinched. The man grinned, then brought his hand forward to grasp and Kess’s chin, the Fulminancy prickling her skin where it touched, nearly blinding her with its energy.

  In spite of herself, her body began to shake, and the man cackled.

  “She’s afraid of it,” the man said, and a few of the others chuckled as well. “Can you believe it? On the run for using it and she’s afraid of it.”

  Still grinning, he allowed his Fulminancy to grow, wrapping around her, weaving through her clothes. Kess tugged against her other captor, but his sword remained pressed firmly against her throat, and Kess stilled. Whatever Witchblades Oliver had been dealing with, it wasn’t these.

  The Fulminancy wove around her, teasing, snapping at random places. She flinched each time, which was enough for the men to burst into laughter. As it snapped, something snapped within Kess.

  Familiar energy brewed within her again, warming the Drystorm air around her, a comforting embrace she had long since abandoned. There was nothing tame to it like the Fulminancy these men played with. There was no order to it— only a ferality which Kess had never been able to control, even on that night so long ago.

  A sharp warmth ran into her fingers. There was one more option. One more promise to break. The only promise that mattered, really.

  If you die here, Oliver dies with you, she thought. A single bead of sweat trickled down her back. It didn’t make her feel any better about what she was about to do.

  It hadn’t worked in the arena with Moreen. It hadn’t worked on the Stormclap board last night. But tonight, with the wind whipping and snapping at her clothes while the Witchblades used her like a plaything, she was certain it would.

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