Kess, unfortunately, found that perception and reality weren’t so easily conflated when it came to her Stormclap abilities. She did have talent for the game, and hours of boredom at the manor had honed her skill, but she had no one truly versed in the nuances of the game to practice with. So, at the next gala, Kess found herself staring grumpily at a board after having lost another match—barely.

  “You lost it five moves ago,” a voice said. Kess jumped as a foppish young man with light brown curls plopped himself down—backwards—in the chair across from her, studying the board. “You were too aggressive here,” he said, moving the pins around to a past position. “When you moved your pin to M5, you swept all of his upper territory, but you left your flank open to a player who knew the line that would force you to retreat after overextending yourself. A better move would have been L4—you hold your position with this more conservative move while threatening his right side.”

  Kess blinked, staring at the board as wisps of Fulminancy illuminated the game that would have been. He’s right, she realized, then studied the man again. There was intelligence in his wide eyes, but a deep sort of sadness, though he couldn’t have been much older than Rowan.

  “I—thank you. How do you know so much about Stormclap?”

  The man laughed lightly, rearranging the pieces. “Because my grandfather makes the boards,” he said. “My parents were making boards with him before they made me. Unfortunately, I have no talent for the Fulminancy of it—just the strategy.”

  “You’re Lord Westhill,” Kess realized. “The youngest one.”

  “No Lord for me, I’m afraid,” Westhill said, a look of distaste on his face. “I’m the youngest of four boys—I won’t inherit. It’s just Morris.”

  “Kess.”

  Morris smiled and began to reset the board, though he didn’t seem inclined to play. Instead, he inspected each pin and the board itself, his eyes sharp.

  “Don’t let the losses get to you,” he said as he worked. “It’s a complex game, and you have a real talent for it. There are clubs and houses that would give you stronger players to play—that’s half the battle. You can’t well improve if you’re never challenged.”

  What a mess of things I’ve made, Kess thought, watching him. Oliver could barely convince me to touch a Stormclap board and now I’m playing it for leisure. That wasn’t all she was playing it for, though. She slipped Oliver’s pin from a tiny pocket in her gown and placed it among the other pins while Morris wasn’t looking.

  “Be that as it may, I’m not sure I have time to become Hillcrest’s next Stormclap bolt,” she said. Morris gave her a wan smile as he worked his way through the pile.

  “Time always seems to be the limiting factor, doesn’t it?” he asked. With each Stormclap pin that disappeared from the pile, Morris let out a bit of orange-tinged Fulminancy, the spark faint and light as it briefly lit up his face before snuffing out. He held each pin reverently, examining the markings etched into the metal carefully before placing it back onto the board. Eventually, he came to Kess’s pin, and confusion settled over his young features.

  “This one isn’t part of the set,” he said, comparing it to another pin.

  “It must have slipped from my pocket,” Kess said quickly. “I keep it around for good luck—a family member gave it to me as a gift, but disappeared not long after. Do you know anything about it?”

  Morris turned the pin in his hand again, letting little orange flashes illuminate the intricate markings there.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Know it?” he asked. “I watched my grandfather make it.” If he’d treated the other pins with reverence, he now treated this one with the utmost care. “It was one of a kind, made for his high end shop which only services wealthy Uphill customers. He called the family in to watch—he’s big about making sure his craftsmanship moves on to the next generation, one way or another. I didn’t even know he’d sold it.”

  Kess watched Morris’s face light up as he muttered something. If Oliver had been the sole purchaser, then only he would know the significance of that Stormclap pin. To the rest of Hillcrest, it was just a piece on a game board. Why would that Council member have thought to bring it with him at all? She wondered. What’s the significance?

  “Morris.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Does anyone ever use Stormclap pins as weapons?” Her shoulder throbbed faintly as she asked, though the wound was long gone.

  “No,” he replied. “They’re not well tuned for it. You’re a Fulminancer, so you probably know this, but people can and do use metal to extend their Fulminancy, but Stormclap pins are too inert to do much damage without a lot of power behind them. My grandfather told me once that it had something to do with the alloy we use, and well, we’re not in the business of war, so it’s probably intentional.”

  “Morris,” Kess said gently, “What happened to your grandfather?”

  His face fell a little, though he tried to cover it up with another snap of Fulminancy. “It’s already that well known?” he asked, then laughed a little. “Well, I suppose we don’t host galas often enough for that to not seem suspicious in and of itself. My father thought to host this one to try and root out any enemies my grandfather had, but as far as we can tell, he was universally loved.” He stared sightlessly at the Stormclap pin in his hands. “I mean, he made games, for Mariel’s sake. Why would anyone want to hurt him?”

  “He was attacked?”

  Morris nodded. “Kidnapped. We waited for a ransom note, but it hasn’t come. At first we thought that maybe it was just a Downhill thug hoping for funds, but then my father noticed Fulminancy marks where he was last seen—like there was a struggle.”

  Kess paled, remembering Oliver’s apartment.

  “The thing is,” Morris continued, leaning forward, “the Council knows who did it—they have to. Judging from the marks, this was someone with a lot of power. That attack on my grandfather was sanctioned for some reason.”

  “I was attacked by a Fulminancer with that same pin,” Kess said, mouth dry. She wasn’t certain it was wise to tell Morris about the attack at all, but he seemed so genuine—especially when he mentioned his grandfather. Something in his face softened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were lucky to escape with your life. I don’t know what’s going on, but my grandfather isn’t the only one missing. Fulminancers all over the Uphill, gone in the middle of the night.” His hand tightened into a fist over the Stormclap pin. “The Archives would hold records of who attacked him, I bet, but they won’t let us in—we’re not highborn enough. And I tried sneaking in once.”

  “You’re black sash,” Kess said, eying his colors doubtfully.

  “Black sash or not, most of my family are craftsmen,” Morris said. “And others still are healers contracted to Hillcrest. We might be Fulminant and highborn, but we’re not important—not in the eyes of the Council. And we don’t have our mastery sashes either. Clouds, they’d let you in further than us. Mastery is another class entirely.”

  Kess avoided his eyes, but at least felt mollified that she was on the right track with the Archives. Whether she barged in with Forgebrand at her side, or snuck in with Rowan somehow, every path seemed to lead straight there.

  “If I could get in, what would I look for?” Kess asked.

  Morris laughed darkly, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They won’t let even you in that far. The Fulminant Security Division keeps their files on lock. As long as no one’s dead, they’re not interested in sharing what they know—probably because it paints a bad picture for the Fulminant.” He handed her Stormclap pin back to her, and closed her hand around it, meeting her eyes.

  “Kess, you seem nice enough, and it’s rare a Stormclap player so talented comes along. Keep this safe, and if I were you, I’d stay very far away from what you’re digging around in.” He moved to stand, smiling. “Thank you for the conversation—Mariel knows I needed it.”

  With that, he disappeared further into the Stormclap room, his brown hair blending in with the wood paneling of the walls. Kess held her pin for a while longer until her stomach grumbled, then realized she needed to meet Rowan for a dinner that made her lose her appetite entirely.

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