Burning Bright

Lioe looked sideways, found a patch of grey stone that would let her see the chronometer’s numbers. In a little more than an hour she would have to start the night’s session, and she shook her head decisively. “No. I want to get back to Shadows.” She was aware suddenly that Roscha was frowning, added a belated, “Thanks anyway.”

Roscha shrugged one shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

“Some other time,” Lioe said, and got no answer. They kept walking through the patches of light and shadow that filled the streets, pools of light puddling in the intersections, shadow creeping back at the middle of the blocks, where the streetlights did not overlap. Distant music wound through the darkness, fits and snatches that she could almost weave into a tune. She tilted her head to one side to listen—she didn’t even quite recognize the instruments, except for the heavy bass and the thin whine of metal strings from a violo—and started when Roscha’s hand brushed her own.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Roscha said, in an affronted voice and Lioe shook her head.

“I’m sorry, you just startled me. That’s all.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Roscha looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said again, in an entirely different tone.

“It’s all right,” Lioe said, and did not move away when Roscha reached for her hand again. They walked on hand in hand, their footsteps echoing on the paving, and then Roscha pulled away again. Lioe bit back annoyance—she didn’t need this, not before a session—but said nothing. Whatever’s wrong with her, she’ll have to get over it on her own; I don’t have the time to nursemaid her. Then, in spite of herself, she gave a rueful smile. Why are my one-night stands always more complicated than they should be?

Evening, Day 1

Storm: The Chrestil-Brisch

Palazze, Five Points

Damian Chrestil stood on the wide balcony that ran along the base of the palazze’s roof, watching the fireworks that bloomed over the Wet Districts and the Inland Water. Each burst drew a murmur of appreciation from the other guests, watching from the open doorways farther down the roof, but he enjoyed the annual display too much to share it. The bursts of red and gold flared like flowers, drowning the stars and the starlike lights of the distant buildings. He would rather have been watching from the Water itself, where the sky rained golden fire with each explosion, but Chrestillio had asked— and we all agreed, in some perverse fit of compliance—that they all attend the family’s party as a show of solidarity. Customs-and-Intelligence was still asking questions about the Demeter shipment, and it was important that they look as though they trusted each other, and weren’t worrying about anything. The fireworks slackened, the breathing space before the finale, and Damian glanced over his shoulder toward the guests who lined the balcony. About half of them were masked, all from the Five Points Families: the Old City did not mask, preferred more refined pastimes, but the real power had never needed refinement. Damian smiled at the thought, nodded to a thin woman— she was something in the bank, he thought—who lifted her glass to him, and looked away.

The finale caught them all by surprise, and there was a collective gasp as the first burst flowered into an enormous spray of red that turned to gold and then fell in streamers of light toward the distant Water. Another shell burst into a flare of purple brightening to pink, and then another, and another, so that the balls of light hung for a moment on a trail of gold fire like flowers on a stem. Even as they fell, dissolving into a shower of sparks, four more shells flew up, trailing thin lines of flame, exploded into flat sheets of light. From the Water, Damian knew, it would be as though the world were frozen for an instant by that crack of light, and he sighed for what he was missing.

In his pocket, the house remote buzzed softly, a tingling vibration against his thigh. He swore under his breath, and reached for it, cupping his fingers over the control points. The message vibrated against his hand: urgent message, come at once. He swore again, but the code was his highest priority. He glanced over his shoulder again, saw no one watching, and turned the remote to touch the control combination that released the gate to the outside stair. It was in shadow, and everyone’s attention would be on the finale for at least half an hour. He looked again toward the Water—red and green halos flared around a golden center—and made himself turn away.