Ashes Unwritten: Oblivion's Heir [Volume 1 Complete!]

Claire peeked out of the manor windows again and swore. The weather in Hillcrest was never good, but this was something else entirely. Kess had arrived back at the manor over a month ago with the woman Rae, broken, bloodied, and carrying a horrifically wounded Rowan between the two of them. All three had collapsed in a heap at the front foyer, barely conscious, two bags of books slung over their shoulders. Eamon had come along not long after that, uninjured but frantic—apparently he'd lost the lot of them in some sort of misunderstanding with Forgebrand, but that was as much as he knew.

Claire had been left to pick up the pieces, and lacerations, contusions the shade of the storm outside, and burn marks from Fulminancy were the least of her problems. Rowan's wound had nearly cost him an arm, and Kess and Rae both would have greeted Fanas herself without Claire's timely intervention.

It was some of her best work, though she'd had plenty of Fulminancy to work with; Kess and Rae were still stuffed with it, even unconscious, and she'd been able to recycle back much of it in a healthier manner. That had been her own idea, a snapshot decision made with one hand in Rowan's ravaged arm, blood up to her elbows.

As the weeks went on and her patients improved, however, Claire found herself irritated again, especially when none of them offered explanations for the state of their return. Since then, the Lightstorm, Floodstorm, and Drystorms had merged into one terrifying tempest that seemed determined to rage on with no end in sight. Kess had called it the Ashfall. Tornadoes weren't uncommon, and the household seemed content to stay as far indoors as possible.

Except for Kess.

Claire heard footsteps climbing the stairs and left her ward to track the woman down. There was obviously something still wrong with her, even if she wouldn't talk to Claire about it. Claire intended to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

Neither Kess nor Rae had said anything about what had occurred in the Archives that night. When Rowan came around, Claire couldn't get anything out of him, either. Claire figured the three of them must have some sort of agreement to say nothing. In fact, she was sure of it.

She'd tried eavesdropping, to no avail. They said very little at all these days, either to each other, or to Claire and the others. Having exhausted good old-fashioned snooping, Claire was left with one other tool in her arsenal: brute force.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, as Kess's compact form reached the top of the stairs.

"Out," Kess said without turning around.

"I'm coming with you," Claire replied. She couldn't stop Kess from leaving, but coming with her might be her next best option.

"No, you're not." Kess walked again, ignoring Claire's protests as she made her way towards the roof. Claire followed her, undeterred by a single 'no'.

"Are you insane?" she snapped, grabbing Kess's arm. The smaller woman shrugged her off with a snap of her Fulminancy that even Claire winced at as she climbed the second set of stairs. "That storm out there kills. Do you want to die?"

Kess eyed the stairs to the roof, then Claire in turn. A crack of lightning resounded, shaking the building. Claire flinched, and Kess smiled slightly, though these days there was no joy in her smile—only a resigned sense of duty and determination.

"Make sure Rowan gets something to eat," Kess said, climbing the stairs. "All this sitting around is bad for his spirit." She kept climbing as Claire balled her fists together.

"All of us are sitting around in this Mariel-forsaken house because there is a world-ending storm outside, Kess."

"I don't know about Mariel-forsaken," another voice called out from behind Claire. Rae, brushing past her to follow Kess, rolling her eyes. Rae jerked her head towards Kess, giving Claire a look that said, she's right there, you know. That secret, of course, was out. Claire now shared a home with the Seat of Mariel, apparently.

"What is wrong with you people?" Claire demanded, but the door had already opened and swung shut with a deafening howl as the two women exited the manor without another word.

"Why are they not dead?" Claire demanded, storming into Rowan's room. She didn't bother knocking, and she didn't really care to do so. As far as she was concerned, Rowan was still her patient until he took to her healing—which had been met with a frustrating amount of resistance. Rowan stared at her, mid squat.

"Claire, these are my private rooms, you know." Claire threw up her hands and leaned against the hearth, watching Rowan continue to squat. He still held his sword arm at a strange angle, and she itched to make him sit down.

"You were the one who left the ward," she snapped. Rowan sighed in a long-suffering way.

"It's been over a month, Claire. I'll manage."

"Why are you not dead?" she asked, scowling at him. A wan smile appeared on his face and his squats paused.

"You say it like you wish I were." Claire narrowed her eyes at him, trying to work something out. Even a month later, his arm still carried with it a few faint lines from someone's Fulminancy, though his shoulder wound was much worse.

"No," she said. "I say it like a woman who watched three wraiths collapse on the doorstep a little over a month ago. Now, one is over here doing squats and one-armed push-ups, and the other two are going out into a storm that kills everyone else we send out into it. The entire city is shut down."

"They're Fulminant," Rowan said from the ground, grunting as he began a set of Claire's referenced push ups.

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"So am I," she replied. "So are you, if our research is sound." Their trip to the Archives had, at least, given Claire plenty to read and think about. She and Rowan were now fairly certain that Rowan's odd power was a form of Fulminancy all its own, though it was poorly understood, his actual abilities lost to time.

"It's not quite the same," Rowan said, pausing at the top of his motion. His eyes took on a distant expression that was Claire's only sign anything strange had happened that night. She considered asking him again, but knew she'd only be snubbed. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Did you figure out why you can't heal my arm yet?" he asked, puffing.

"No, did you?"

Rowan sat back, shaking out his injured arm, though he hadn't used it at all.

"I might have found something," he said, brows knit together in thought. "When we were in the Archives, Kess and I found books on the elemental properties of Fulminancy. We thought they were just down there to hide the origin of the Seats, but I've been looking through them with all this spare time. It seems like the Seats weren't the only ones to receive Fulminancy, and that each Fulminancer has a sort of flavor to his or her power—that's why you're exceptional at healing."

"And why Kess is exceptional at destruction," Claire muttered.

Rowan ignored her barb. He got to his feet and shook out his other arm. "What if whichever elements fuel our powers aren't compatible with one another? Or what if my powers somehow block Fulminancy?"

Claire frowned, folding her arms together. "Well, you have said that they work more consistently on Kess than other people. Maybe it's a similar issue, though I don't remember problems with you in the past. What's Mariel's historical element again?"

"Plasma," he replied. "Lightning."

Claire rolled her eyes, frustrated. "Well, that explains the storm for her, but it doesn't for her little friend." Rowan ran a towel through his curls, smiling slightly.

"I don't think any of us know much about her little friend, but she's wildly talented—maybe even more so than Kess. I caught her using her Fulminancy to act out stories for some of Arlette's messengers the other night. She was eating while she did it. And she survived that parlor blowing last year." He shook his head, eyes distant again. "I don't think we understand Fulminancy as well as we thought we did."

Claire pushed off from the mantle, making her way to the windows where the storm raged outside. That the two women were out in it was ludicrous. Claire couldn't even see the back wall of the manor through the gale. "If we don't understand it, then it's probably best that it's regulated," she said quietly.

"Now you sound like the Council, Claire." She turned from the window, watching him with critical eyes.

"Do you want someone with Kess's powers and temperament flying around the city unchecked?" Rowan held her gaze, his eyes steady.

"She's doing what Mariel designed the Seat to do—helping the lower city." Claire snorted, turning back towards the wind.

"If by helping you mean starting a war, then sure."

"Kess being active changes nothing," Rowan said. "This was a long time coming, Claire. The Uphill was kidnapping Fulminancers long before Kess was involved. The Downhill was bound to lose their patience eventually, even if it was only a small group. You don't need to be Arlette to figure out what was coming."

Arlette, for her part, was like a cat with a canary, with Mariel herself calling the manor home. Only their little group officially knew, but it didn't stop Arlette from feeling smug. It made Claire wonder if she hadn't known all along. Why else would she let a street rat like Kess into the manor when all of its other occupants had some sort of connection to Arlette herself?

Outside, a white-hot bolt of lightning snapped through the air, and wind rattled the building. Claire flinched again, though she cursed herself for doing so.

"You need to talk her out of going out there, Rowan," she said, voice quiet.

"Why me?"

"Because she'll listen to you. Me, she feels like I'm fussing over her."

She heard footsteps behind her and Rowan peered out the window, though there wasn't much to see. It was day, but the darkness outside was near total, the gardens below hidden in the gale.

"I don't understand what's so bad about letting her use her Fulminancy for once. Mariel knows we couldn't get her to do it before."

"Because it's going to kill her, Rowan." Claire met his eyes, and he stared at her for a moment, mouth slightly agape. "I looked into those Vices you asked me about," she continued. They're tied to old Fulminancy, so I'm not sure if it's the same thing. But if her inclination is towards plasma like you suggest, then hers is the most destructive."

Lightning crashed overhead, throwing even the well-lit room into stark relief. "It'll eat her alive, little by little," Claire continued, watching the storm. "One day when she thinks she's fine to use it, her body will decide it's had enough. It'll backfire. Might even kill her. And, if she stops using it, her body will collapse without the extra help of all that energy. It's like a drug, of sorts."

She let the statement hang, sure in her conviction.

"You're sure?" Rowan asked, his voice quiet. Claire made a face, watching her reflection in the window.

"I wouldn't say sure, exactly, but it's pretty strongly indicated, yes."

"I'll talk to her, Claire, but I'm fairly certain what reply I'll get." He sighed, wandering over to his boots. "Something changed that night," he said, and Claire perked up immediately. "She doesn't like her Fulminancy, but she doesn't fear it anymore either. She's using it more than she ever did before."

Claire peered out the window at the storm raging outside and had the distinct feeling that it might not be so different from the storm raging inside of Kess. "I think," she murmured, "that in this case, fear was the healthier reaction."

She heard the distinct shuffling of boots and the metallic ring of a sword being sheathed, and knew immediately that Rowan was about to piss her off. "Rowan, don't you—"

But with a click of the door, he was already gone. Off to practice with that clouding sword again. Briefly, Claire considered chasing him down, but well, she couldn't heal the man anyway, so what was the point? She eyed Rowan's pile of books.

Maybe she'd been too focused on Kess. Rowan's sword arm should have been a simple job, but Claire felt a block there each time she tried to knit together tendon and muscle. At this point, she'd probably have to injure it again to heal it properly, even if her Fulminancy could break through. And, though she still blamed Rowan for Emella's death, she didn't want the man to remain a cripple—particularly when he took so much joy from the sword.

But with a new wealth of information available to her in the manor, perhaps Rowan's powers weren't the only ones that could be improved. Surely Fulminant surgeons hadn't been satisfied with injuries like Rowan's in the past. If Claire's Fulminancy was better suited to creation than destruction, then maybe a shift in that frequency could help cut through the scar tissue and knotted tendons in Rowan's arm.

Maybe that's why Fulminant healing loses its effectiveness overtime, Claire realized. We can knit and recreate and mend, but we can't destroy when we need it. She stood there for a moment, mouth open in shock as the possibilities unfolded before her. She snatched a few books from the pile, Kess and her rotten storm nearly forgotten with the promise of a problem she could actually solve. Lightning snapped outside again, but as Claire left Rowan's rooms, she hummed contentedly.