When Lance arrived in the furnaces the following night, it was with a new sense of determination. The smell of soot and earth hung on the air, and the uniforms of the workers were dirty and gray with coal and sweat wiped away from calloused hands. The shovel was stabbed into the hill of bck, misshapen rocks across from the entrance where it y under a wrought-bronze balcony, which overlooked the pit where the servants bored.

  Lady Tamalsen had not yet given up on turning him away from this path, he was sure of it. Tonight would hand her a victory if he did not succeed. She had done everything short of beg him not to squander his gifts, but she did not know what he did. Did not see the necessity of this for the secrets he hid from her.

  She did not see him in his barracks, staring across Laramy’s bed at the window from which the moon’s glow fell, hunting after a spider whose name he now knew, whose power he could call upon be it for his benefit or otherwise. She did not know about the monster inside of him that refused to stay quiet when all else was still—the nightmares that bubbled forth, promising windows into a past he did not want to remember. He needed this pce, for the distraction it provided him, for the promise made by Lord Aren that he would find among these people—most of them kitunes pced here as a byproduct of Lady Tamalsen’s prejudice—understanding.

  Master Gregor was waiting for him when he arrived in his office. He held a letter in his hand, and another was open and ying atop the mass of other items scattered across his desk—tools and missives and other dross.

  He lounged on his chair with his boots resting on the desk’s edge, gnced at Lance over the letter as he entered.

  “Close the door, will ya?” he said. “Got some things ta discuss wit’ ya.”

  A sleuce can sat next to his free hand. He spat into it without looking. Chew spit ran into the vessel, not a drop spilling across the desk’s surface.

  “She give ya trouble?” he asked.

  Lance nodded.

  “Sit, sit. Yer makin’ me uncomfortable.”

  Lance took the open seat across from him.

  “She sent this ‘ere.” He fpped a letter at him. “Hot load o’ garbage, in’it, but I s’pose it shows she cares.”

  “What’s it say?” Lance asked.

  “Lot o’ stuff ‘bout how I should be shamed for askin’ you to take a job here knowin’ yer too smart for it. Little bit ‘bout how disappointed she is in ya fer choosin’ these ‘ere louts over posh, disciplined people.” He gestured at the bay window, a series of thick pipes blocking sight of his soon to be peers.

  “She really wanted you.” He chuckled, exposing several missing teeth.

  “Oh, wait, ‘s my favorite.”

  He cleared his throat, gnced at Lance, a mischievous look on his face as he settled back in his seat, adjusted his feet atop the desk.

  In a shrill imitation of Lady Tamalsen’s voice, he read: “'It boggles me that such a gifted young man would elect willingly to work among loud, dirty vagabonds like you. But I suppose I am wasting my words. You don’t know what half of them mean, anyway.'

  “Ya see, I can’t quite tell ‘f she means boggles, elect or vagabond but the tone is clear enough. She thinks ev’ry damned kitune in ‘is pce ‘s an idiot.”

  He saluted with two fingers. “Jus’ goes ta show what she knows.”

  “So she’s mad.” Lance said. “I gathered that when I talked to her yesterday.”

  “Maybe she ought a point. Ya do talk like one o’ them snooty bitches.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I ‘on’t mean nothin’ by it.” He said. “Jus’ bustin’ yer balls. But tha’s not what I wanted a private moment wit’ ya ‘bout. There’s ‘is other business ta settle.”

  He tossed Lady Tamalsen’s letter in a trash bin and picked up the other one. The seal was still clinging to the paper, a ringlet of bckthorn in blue wax.

  “Ta the untrained eye, this’d be a request to stop pumpin’ so much damned heat into the vents up Lord Aren’s way, but I ain’t got one o’ those. My vision is sharp as ever ya see, and I know what Lord Aren came from. My question is, do you?”

  “I’m afraid not, Master—“

  “Told ya to call me Gregor, didn’ I?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, see, Lord Aren come’s out o’ the slums ‘bout thirty aught years ago. ‘Bout same time I showed up in ‘ese parts. Was lookin’ fer a change, ya see, an ain’t a lot o’ pces you could earn much outside the Ring in ‘ose days. S’neither here nor there.” He waved it all away. “What’s important ‘s

  Lord Aren’s a friend. Came up as a Wraith, he did. I ‘on’t envy ‘em who take that way into the army, but he an’ his brother had pns an’ damn if they didn’t make good on ‘em.

  “Almost forgot. Lothor, yoldord sei iyel.”

  “You have always been a coarse bastard, you know that.” Lothor grumbled.

  “Call me what’cha want, but ya do right by me. Like a little privacy while we handle delicate business.”

  Lance looked in the direction Lothor’s voice had come from, found the silhouetted spider crawling across a messy stack of papers on the desk.

  “What’cha lookin’ at ‘ere, friend?” Master Gregor asked.

  “A spider.” Lance said before he could think to stop himself.

  Master Gregor ran his hand across his scalp, and whistled. “Never thought I’d see the day. Makes sense o’ what Lord Aren was hintin’ at, though, don’ it?

  “You can see ‘em. The spirits.”

  “Is that not normal.”

  “Look kid, ‘ere aren’t many people out ‘ere can hear ‘em anymore. Really hear ‘em. None of that music ‘ey make when ‘ey’re all in pain, their voices.

  What ‘ey say. I can’t say I ever met anyone who could see ‘em. There’re stories, o’ course, ‘bout a king in the Free Lands, but nothin’ anyone can verify. Empire suppresses infermation like ‘at anyway.

  “But look, s’ nothin’ ya shouldn’ be proud o’. S’ not normal, but—“

  “It is a gift.” Lothor said. “One which comes but once in an era.”

  “Lord Aren told me not to tell anyone.” Lance said. “When he found me by the staircase.”

  A dark chuckle escaped Master Gregor. “Best ya leave ‘at pce alone fer now.”

  “What’s down there?”

  “Nothin’ you want ta see. But come on.”

  He hopped onto his feet. “We got a test fer ya ta pass. An’ let me tell ya, everyone ‘ere knows tha old way. Can ‘ear em like you can. Well…mos’ly.”

  He led him around to the door, opened it and followed him through. They marched across the bronze catwalk and down the stairs into the pit. Then around to a metal cone shaped like a cornucopia. Several furnace workers followed their progress to the fluted contraption. Its wide end was fully three man heights high and situated so that it faced them, and its narrow end was connected to a duct that cut a path into the ceiling.

  “We use this fer testin’. ‘Bout time any heat bsted in it gets anywhere it dulls out enough doesn’t affect much, but in the before times it was the primary means of heatin’ the pace corridors.

  “Yer task is ta bst heat into it, by makin’ use o’ the spirits, but ‘ey’re a testy bunch. Won’t come willin’ly unless ya figure out their names, and ya have ‘till the end o’ the night to do that. I ‘on’t expect it to take too long, given the circumstances.

  “Now, let me call on tha one ya need.”

  His lips framed a silent word that Lance could not read, and in the wake of it, a spirit materialized, alighted on the vaulted rise before the cornucopia where he and Master Gregor stood.

  The creature was a fox, resembled those in some of the friezes he had seen throughout the pace. His gaze shifted to it, and it set a steady regard on him.

  “We approach the end of an era, and order is restored.” She said, her voice a soothing contralto. She looked to Master Gregor, whose gaze was fixed on the cornucopia. “Is this one who sees?”

  “Should be apparent what he is, lookin’ at him.” Master Gregor answered.

  She turned her attention back to Lance. “Then know my nature, and wield me, Seem.”

  “What is a Seem?” he asked.

  A soft chuckle from the fox. “Where there is fire, I am there also. Not naked to the eye save in the presence of my sister, but there always, when she is not. When embers crackle in the hearth, I am there, and weaker than when my brother brings the fme. Always, I am there when the sun touches the nd, yet in shadow I may rest. In winter, I may sleep, until again the fire emerges. Know my nature, and I will grant you my name. Know my essence, and I will pass unto you my power.”

  He did not have to think long to comprehend her true nature. It was there, pressed against his skin, the principle purpose behind the work these servants did. He did not flinch away from this truth, but spoke it pinly for the spirit to hear, voiced her nature, and awaited her name.

  “You are heat.” He said.

  “And my name is Phia. The command you shall call to me, when you need, for the simplest expression of my power. Call for me and say…dabi benigne mi.”

  He positioned himself before the cornucopia. Master Gregor helped him set his stance, one leg back to brace himself, his hand forward, trained on the fluted pipe.

  “Do it.” Master Gregor said, stepping back to a safe distance. “Put all ya got into it.”

  “Dabi begnigne mi, Phia.” He said.

  Many of the servants down below stopped what they were doing to watch, more than a few looked impressed. He suspected it was not common for someone to pick this up so swiftly, but he had practice. Had called two spirits already.

  Phia leaned back on her hind legs, lowered her muzzle almost to the floor. Her power surged into him, and raw heat bsted from his palms, bsted on a high wind into the pipe.

  Master Gregor took another step back and shielded his face as the heat surged forth. As it rumbled into the pipe and banged against its narrower end.

  “Stop!” he shouted over the noise. That’s good, now stop!”

  “Zente, Phia.” Lance said.

  “As you wish.”

  The heat subsided, the rumbling dying down as the st of that terrible wind flew up the shoot.

  Down below the servants cheered, some spping each other on the back and ughing as he turned round to face them.

  He didn’t quite know what to do in that moment, and when Master Gregor came to his side, cpped him on the rump, he jumped. “Ya got a gift, kid. Ya got a gift.

  “Now get down ‘ere and help ‘ese assholes out. Ya just earned yer spot wit’ em.”

  “Come on, Master Gregor, ‘on’t scare ‘im away now!” A kitune among the servants down below shouted. He was doughy around the middle, with dark brown hair and silver eyes. He might have been a year or two older than Lance, but no more than that, and the smile he set upon him was warm and broad.

  “Would you shut your fucking trap, Duardo.” A woman, the one with short-cropped hair who Lance had seen briefly on his stage, snapped. Duardo gred at her, but he kept his silence.

  “Come down ‘ere and join up wit’ me. I’ll see to ya tonight.”

  “Go on then. Duardo’s a good ‘un. He’ll take care o’ ya.” Master Gregor pushed him toward a staircase descending into the pit.

  “Did I not tell you to—”

  “Both a ya could learn a lot from shuttin’ up.” Master Gregor snapped. “‘S his testin’. Give ‘im a minute, yeesh!”

  Silence descended with the finality of a hammer stroke.

  He joined Duardo in the pit, and the kitune led him to one of the various metal boxes, the furnaces, where he set him before the opening.

  “We take it in shifts, but ‘cause yer new, you ‘an go right now. I’ll come behind ya wit’ a nice breeze ta give it some body. We work together like this an’ ‘at’s how heat gets up to the upper floors. Got it?”

  “I think so.”

  He settled back onto his hind foot. Phia remained where she had been, watching as he began his work. She y at Master Gregor’s side as he sat, the kitune unaware of her, as her power was drawn into the waiting hands of others. Another fox materialized next to her, and y down at her side. He suspected that one served as much purpose here, was another spirit of fire.

  “Alright, go.” Duardo said.

  He called to Phia, and an answering surge of power ran through him. As if from a vast distance, he heard a song in her voice, and was surprised to find it was joined by other voices. A light, male voice, and a lilting melody joining them which was familiar to him. He looked up to the rise once more, and found a weasel had joined them. Aughere’s presence made him falter for a moment, before Duardo nudged him back toward the open door of the furnace, guiding the direction of his heat into the furnace itself.

  As he grew used to the rite, and worked himself into a heavy sweat, an ache formed behind his eyes. It worsened the more he used it, forcing him to put in more effort to maintain his focus, and in spite of himself he found his mind drifting. The ache made him think of thorns, like those carried in the balled up feet of the ravens on Shadovane’s banners, and those that prowled the dungeons and pace halls—that struck fear into the servants, Wraiths and noblemen alike—who were controlled by Lord Aren.

  He thought of the fire, too. Of the raging currents inside the furnace. Of the fires that pgued his dreams. Of Aughere, where he floated above the two foxes, both of whom ignored his presence, seeming annoyed.

  Duardo’s hand on his shoulder drew him up.

  “That’s enough.” Lance found the other boy smiling at him. He let go of Phia’s power, and stepped aside. “I ‘on’t want ya to burn out. Using magic like that too long or too much will kill ya if you’re not careful.”

  “What do you want me to do, then? Shovel coal?” Lance asked.

  “I want ya to get to bed. Need ya fresh for yer next shift.”

  So, Lance left the furnaces, smiling at Duardo as he made his way out. Something in him suggested he would find camaraderie with the excitable but good natured kitune in the future.

  When he finally found his bed, stripped off his clothes and climbed into it, and all thought for the Thorns and those fires had gone in his exhaustion, his thoughts turned to Sami, and he wondered at where she had gone. Whether he would ever see her again.

  Sleep took him, robbing him of what remained of his concerns, and plunged him into a dream.