Chapter 1

The air stilled.

Two Attanos in a room full of natives.

My remnant tugged at the collective hold of their breaths, my skin the weight of their stares. These people of power were my last hope to bring my wife home—and get her brothers the hells out my guesthouse. Yet we were nothing but a nuisance, the way they regarded us. Like snakes in their gardens.

They weren't entirely wrong.

The gathering was located along the back of the High Overseer's mansion, overlooking the grounds and sprawling gardens behind the estate. The rest of the OIC of Lynchaven sat around a long table, falling silent as my cousin and I showed our faces.

Neal Caldwell, the newly appointed inspector, led the meeting, seated at the head of the table to the right of Theodore Hartsong. The rest were commanders, donors, and wealthy business owners that paid to have a say in the workings of the city. Just a collection of old, native men and women that wouldn't live long enough to see the full consequences of the decisions they made in this room.

"Mr. Attano." Hartsong broke the stunned silence first. "I didn't know you were joining us today."

"Why wouldn't I be here?" I made a show of adjusting the lapels of my suit jacket, where the golden eagle sigil of the OIC had allowed me to pass the Watch standing guard outside. Theo had given it to me as a gift of good faith should I need anything after all I'd done to get him that seat over the city. He must have conveniently forgotten. "I represent the best interest of the Row, and I was under the impression when we spoke recently that you wanted to improve relations with your neighbors north of the river. Is that no longer the case?"

A muscle flickered along his jaw. Theodore had become the High Overseer by default, since the last one poisoned himself and left the seat open. Neal had been appointed in the week that followed, as the prior inspector had been arrested and thrown into the native prison thanks to my collaboration with Hartsong and his daughter. He wouldn't have long until the next election, a year tops, and I had challenged his loyalties to my family and to my side of the city in front of his incomparably precious voters.

"Of course it is, Mr. Attano. Why don't you and your guest have a seat, and we will give you the floor after the inspector has discussed his public safety plan. Might I ask who you've brought with you?"

"Luther Attano." My cousin bowed too low to be sincere. "At your service, Overseer Hartsong."

Theo's smile was tight. "Always a pleasure to meet more of the family."

We took the seats in the center of the room, near the aisle.

"Where were we?" Neal said with a crisp nod. "Oh, right. The drains. The Moselys filed a report, claiming the last freeze had caused some issues with the sewage backing up—"

His fucking rambling already gave me a headache. I pulled a cigarillo from the inner pocket of my coat and lit it on fire with the thumb of my false hand.

"We don't smoke in here," spat a man with a round face and small, dark eyes. His suit was a size too small, but the hate in his gaze was plenty enough to swallow me in his judgements.

I leaned forward and tapped the blaze over the rim of his glass, a bit of ash falling into his whiskey. "I'm not smoking."

The crease in his fat forehead deepened as he glowered. He reached into the front pocket of his blazer and pulled out a short knife wrapped in a leather sheath, placing it on the table. A blue glow spilled from the gaps. "And I don't have any weapons out."

"Is everything alright over there?" Neal asked. A row of heads swiveled in our direction. "Mr. Attano, we would hate to waste your very limited time. If you've come to discuss something with the cabinet, please take the floor."

I smiled at the man in front of me. He wouldn't be able to reach the blade before I put him on his back. Threats were empty without the reputation to give them merit. "That's very generous of you, Inspector. Thank you."

The chair made a harsh sound as I shot up from my seat and rounded the table to stand before the cabinet. At least twenty pairs of eyes settled over me, and I could almost hear their thoughts as if my remnant had descended from Mirth instead.

They didn't trust me.

Why would they? My name had been included in all kinds of rumors, though they had no evidence of the crimes they associated me with. The only other people that had been on that train—that knew what truly happened when everything went to hell—had disappeared or were dead.

Strangely, the Firenzes weren't here today.

My speech was rehearsed. I'd spoken the words a hundred times in the days leading up to this, despite my doubts. Appealing to the OIC was a long shot, especially when the leadership was dominated by natives. I wouldn't have come crawling to them for help unless I was truly desperate.

That time had come.

"Over the last few years," I started, "descendants, those who wield remnants that have been passed down from the Saints themselves, have disappeared across Lynchaven. The previous inspector admitted to being involved. He was found guilty of abusing his position to kidnap remnants of all variances—"

"And he's suitably detained until further notice," Theo said. "The OIC acknowledged his crimes and admitted Gavriel to the prison camps in the mountains, where he will live and work for the rest of his twenty-year sentence. Does this not appease you?"

"It doesn't." A flash of irritation widened his eyes. "It doesn't solve the actual problem. Hightower is not regulated by the OIC. You have no idea the treatment of the prisoners there. Which is why I've brought Luther here, as he can attest to the dangerous experiments they run on descendants and their remnants. I'm sure if you would listen to a firsthand account of the workings in that prison, you'll agree that operations on the island need to be investigated and the prisoners returned home."

The Overseer's face betrayed nothing, but the whispers of his company insisted on what I already suspected. They cared little for what Luther had to say.

"Experiments?" Caldwell asked. "This is the first I'm hearing of any experiments on prisoners. Do you have any proof of these accusations?"

"More like a lack of it. My cousin's remnant was destroyed as a result of their experimentation. Luther?"

Their pointed stares fell to him. Luther stood slowly, his gaze bouncing on each glare before settling on a spot on the wall like we'd practiced. He'd never been the kind of man to speak for anyone, granting me the privilege instead. Today, however, I could not speak for him, and he shoved his shoulders back to abandon his nerves.

"I was in Hightower for five years before the last inspector absolved me and my cousin of our illegitimate crimes. After a year or so, I was taken to a tower and repeatedly tested on, sometimes for days at a time."

"Who conducted these tests?" Hartsong asked next.

Luther shook his head. "A lady alchemist. She never shared her name or who she worked on behalf of, nor the purpose of the experiments, but I assumed they were interested in learning more about remnants and how they differ from each other. They seemed strangely interested in polys."

"Poly?" Neal leaned forward then.

"Polypotenia. It's when a descendant has multiple remnants in a certain class. For example, Nico can control the air, time, and light. All powers of the descended from the Saint, Bane. I could move sound and the air as well until—" He swallowed hard.

"Until what?"

Luther's eyes shut briefly. "They tried something different the last time they brought me into the tower. Something new. The guards there, I could tell they felt uneasy. What I can remember from the experience is being chained and drugged with glint—always stuffed with the stuff to be honest. But the alchemist lady, she drew things on me. Symbols."

Neal cleared his throat. "Symbols? What kind of symbols?"

Luther's jaw quivered as sweat beaded above his lip. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like them. Lines and circles in geometric shapes. They covered my back, another on my chest, and a few on each of my limbs. That's the last thing I remember from the test." He drew a long breath. "When I woke up, it was like I had drowned in glint. Not an echo of my remnant remained. And I knew. I knew as soon as I felt that void in my bones, it was gone. Glint drains, but this... this destroyed."

Silence draped the room and Luther clasped his hands in front of his waist, stalling his fidgeting.

The new inspector squinted down at him. "Do you think they were trying to destroy your remnant, Mr. Attano?"

He quickly shook his head. "No. She was very displeased about the results."

Neal scoffed. "Well, you must have some idea of the reason for these tests. You were there frequently, as you said."

"I..." Luther's tongue stumbled in his mouth. His eyes lifted and found mine, and I offered a nod. He held my gaze. "I think they tried to harvest my remnant. I think the alchemist was trying to find a way to take it from me."

Smothered laughter filled the silence from the men seated at my cousin's side. Ridicule aimed to belittle his story, his experience, and his shoulders fell inch by inch with every disbelieving shake of their heads.

"Are none of you listening?" I paced up the length of the table. "Is there something amusing about any of this?"

Hartsong cleared his throat, sobering their smiles. "Of course not. This is no laughing matter. But if you are also a poly, Mr. Attano, why didn't you undergo any experiments?"

I took a calming breath and raised my left arm, pulling the sleeve of my coat down enough to reveal the composition of brass tubes and fingers forming my false hand. "I assume it was because I was already compromised, since they cut my arm off and left me to heal alone in my cell for the months following. The Collector took in plenty of prospects, all of which are still missing. Still locked up in Hightower, and the Order of Inner Courts has done nothing to bring them home."

"There is no evidence the missing descendants are in Hightower." Someone at the table spoke up this time. A woman with a ruby silk scarf tied around her neck and wide-rimmed spectacles magnifying her jade eyes. "Gavriel did not disclose this information—"

"Where else would they be?" My steps were lengthy, coming to stand in front of her. "He was the inspector! He could summon any descendant he wished, and they had no choice but to answer him. He'd stir up trouble just to have an excuse for a descendant to be arrested. He abused his position, and he sent those descendants to a place no one would ever question—where the OIC doesn't look."

Hartsong stood from his chair. "That is quite enough, Mr. Attano. The OIC takes these concerns seriously, and we will discuss—"

"I've heard enough." I whirled at him. "It's all you do here, isn't it? Talk. Meanwhile, there are families in the Row who are missing loved ones. If you truly gave a damn, you'd launch a full investigation and, at the very least, free the undocumented individuals sent to Hightower—the ones with no crimes attached to their place there."

"I have an idea," the man with the sheathed blade stood. "Why don't we come to a settlement? Send Mr. Attano back to Hightower and, in exchange, free these so-called blameless remnants. At least then justice will be had."

"Mr. Halloway—"

"Justice?" I arched my brow at him. "What crime have I committed, Mr. Halloway?"

He sneered. "Do you see the Firenzes at this table? No. They are still hoping their son recovers from your attempted murder. You shot him, and I'd bet all my reoles that you killed that poor Marchese girl and her family, just to take the Iron Saint for yourself."

A faint breeze wrapped around the room.

"Boss," Luther whispered.

I ignored his warning.

"You think I killed Camilla Marchese?" Just saying her name ripped open something inside my chest, releasing a beast my uncle begged me not to feed. "You think I murdered my wife?"

"I think it was all so convenient for you, Attano. That she died on her birthday, the same day her inheritance finally cleared, and that anyone who would stand in your way to taking her assets wound up similarly missing... or dead." He braced his large palms on the polished wood surface, glaring at me. "I will not support or aid someone like you. Whatever sad story you came here with is as much a lie as the life you lead. Your family only knows how to take advantage of others' success by stealing their livelihoods and pretending they earned it. You're nothing but a con."

Watchmen stationed at the doors stepped into a more active position. Their opinions of me were even worse than I assumed.

"I never claimed to have earned Camilla's assets. I didn't deserve anything she gave me." That was an undeniable truth. Not her company, and certainly not her heart. "But the remnants in Hightower have nothing to do with me or my family. Whatever grudge you hold against me should not extend to them."

"My vote is no." He sat and plucked an empty glass from the tray in the center of the table, pouring himself a new drink. "I don't believe the claims of this man, nor do I think we should worry over problems that aren't our own. Our inspector will oversee the workings of Hightower and deliver fair and just treatment to the prisoners there, just as he oversees the treatment of native prisoners in the mines."

I doubted that very much. Neal Caldwell looked too fresh to be experienced with overseeing anything—especially not organizations as large and dynamic as the Watch.

Halloway and Neal shared a look. I suspected Neal was not his own man, but a placeholder for someone else—possibly several others—to decide behind the scenes.

Hartsong cleared his throat. "Mr. Attano, I would like to discuss something in private. If you would head to my office, I will be there shortly once we wrap up here."

"Overseer Hartsong—"

He shifted his attention toward Neal, murmuring something in his ear.

It was a punch to the gut, being helpless in a room full of powerful men. They could save Milla tomorrow, probably would if I could mention her name. But Aramis made me vow not to reveal she was alive. Gavriel might have been taken down, but his supporters were still out there—could be in this room if their apathy to help the descendants in Hightower wasn't obvious enough.

The watchmen kept their hands on the guns sheathed at their hip, and I tamed the urge to make a scene. I thought of destroying this room, these people, proving to them what true power looked like. But Milla's life was in their hands, and one wrong choice could burn the bridge that would one day lead me back to her.

For her, I swallowed what I truly wanted to say to these people and pushed down the remnant begging for release with a long exhale. "As you wish, Overseer Hartsong."

The guards escortedus to a secluded part of the house not far from the meeting room. Hartsong's office was a modest-sized space with a single window overlooking a frozen garden. A pair of oiled leather armchairs waited in front of a dark-stained wood desk.

The place was exceptionally clean. The veneer of the desk was polished and smooth with not a fingerprint disturbing the gloss, and only a pad for notes with an eagle symbol printed across the bottom corner sat on the desk. No personal items marked the walls, leaving them bare and incomplete. Almost like he didn't even use this office. Like he'd never officially moved in.

"Want a drink?" Luther motioned to the bar cart in the corner as I circled the desk.

"Not yet." The top was clean, drawers locked. I wondered if he'd prepared to have guests in his office with everything filed away so securely.

Luther served himself, grabbing an amber glass. "That could have gone worse, I suppose. Uncle Sol wasn't optimistic about us coming down here. Not with the barricade still separating the Districts and the Row."

"We travel by train now, Luther. He shouldn't worry. If we don't give them a reason to arrest us, they'll let us pass through." Perhaps he was right. It could have gone worse today. At least we planted the seed. They knew what we wanted. It was all a matter of bargaining now.

A knock sounded at the door, and I quickly stepped around the desk to hide my snooping, but instead of the Overseer, another face appeared.

Vanya. Theo's only daughter and my former accomplice. "Nico, I didn't know you were coming today!" She flung her arms around my neck, leaning into my ear. "We did it."

We had. Gavriel had never expected her to turn on him. His severed connection with the Nine Crowns had been our greatest weapon against him, and Vanya had seamlessly gotten every name of those who supported the Clemontes' acts of violence against remnants in a way few could. She was the perfect socialite, knowing how to make anyone she spoke to feel like they were someone important.

I hadn't seen her since she'd found me at the races over three months ago. Everything had changed since then, for both of us. Though, the rumors hadn't affected her opinion of me, by the way she wrapped me in an embrace that felt much different from the last time.

I patted her shoulder and quickly took a step back. "You should be careful greeting me like that, Vanya. I'm not well received around here. Wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation as the new Head of Public Affairs."

"Nonsense." Vanya waved her gloved hand. She untied the belt around her coat and sat behind her father's desk. "I just got back in from town, actually. It's already all over the Districts that you and your cousin were seen at the Main Station. I figured with the meeting today, that's where you were headed. How are you, Nicolai?"

That was a complicated question. I couldn't answer her honestly, not with her father being the Overseer now. She might have worked with me in the past, but now that Theo had gotten what he needed out of me, there was nothing to ensure her loyalty. I settled on, "Busy, as usual."

"As usual," she repeated, still smiling. She glanced at Luther. "How do you do?"

"I'm just fine, miss." He lifted his glass in her direction.

Her grin faded a bit looking back at me. "I'm sorry about your wife, by the way. We didn't meet in the best circumstances, but it is still a shame. I attended a few parties at the Vasilli Hotel downtown, where her brothers hung about. The Marcheses were... interesting people. You have my sincere condolences."

I nodded and slowly sat back in my seat. "Thank you. I miss her very much."

"Do you?" She arched a thin, dark brow. She'd heard the gossip. A bigger question laced between those two words, wondering the same as everyone else in this city.

I swallowed and nodded, eager to put that vicious rumor to rest at least. "If I had to choose between that train and Milla, I'd trade that fucking locomotive in a heartbeat if it meant having her back."

Vanya inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. "Well, she must have meant the world to you, if you would put her above your business pursuits. Be that as it may, I have an offer for you."

"What is it?"

She cleared her throat and glanced at my cousin before resting her gaze on mine. "I wanted to propose a union between us."

Luther choked on his drink.

My mouth hovered for a moment. Vanya had always been very direct, but this offer came out of nowhere. We'd never... I certainly never entertained any idea of our relationship going anywhere beyond its fundamental purpose: business.

"I know what you're thinking," she spoke in my silence. "It sounds ridiculous, even as I say it out loud, but think about it. A marriage between the leader of the Row and the Districts, we could make real change. You'd have an official position and the protection to use it. You married for business once, Nico. There's no reason you couldn't do it again."

There were plenty of reasons, but even if Camilla was dead like everyone believed, it was still a line I wouldn't cross.

"With all the respect for you in the world, Vanya," I said, "I will not marry anyone ever again. Not for business, certainly not for anything else."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because no one will ever take Camilla's place, and that's all I will say on the matter." If she was hurt by my rejection, she didn't show it. "I'm sorry, but we'll just have to find another way to work the system, no matter how much it's rigged against us."

She opened her mouth just as her father burst into the room.

"Vanya, what are you doing in here?" he hissed.

His daughter leapt from the desk chair with a wince pinching her face.

"I was just offering my sympathies to Nicolai and his family. Relax, Daddy. I didn't touch anything." She rounded the desk as he stepped behind it, keeping the furniture between them.

The High Overseer released a long sigh. "I told you to stay out of my office. This is not a place for you to socialize. I have business to discuss with Mr. Attano, and you have duties to attend to yourself."

"Oh yes." She groaned. "Like organize the Women-Who-Vote For-Theo-Hartsong luncheon next week or visit the rich widows of the Steam District to very subtly ask for donations to the Theo Hartsong Foundation."

Luther stood awkwardly between them, loudly slurping a glass of whiskey.

"We all have our parts to play, Vanya." Her father's timbre dropped like he was chastising a child.

"I can play bigger," she said. "One day, you won't be able to kick me out of that seat, because it will be mine." Vanya didn't give her father a chance to reply. Instead, the door shut swiftly behind her.

Theo rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself into the leather chair. "I'm afraid our previous business together has sparked the politician in her. She thinks she can do anything after taking down one little man."

"She did more than you," I told him. His expression hardened. "Vanya orchestrated the deal with Gavriel. Vanya infiltrated the Niners and got the names. You just reaped the benefits." Perhaps she did deserve to sit in that seat instead.

"Only because it would've been too suspicious for me to work with him directly." He motioned for Luther, who still stood near the wet bar, to sit. "But I didn't call you here to discuss the past, not when the future is more pressing."

I replied with a cynical smile. "I would love to discuss your plans for the city, Hartsong. Starting with what the fuck just happened in that cabinet." My grin fell. "Why did you not support my agenda like we discussed?"

He crossed his arms. "I told you—you could make an appeal to the OIC, but I never promised a decision in your favor."

I laughed at the nuance. "Is this how it's going to be? You're going to forget the ones who helped you get here all for a few votes? I'm disappointed in you, Theo. As are all the men and women sitting in squalor on the island."

"We need to wait until things calm down in the city. People are worried, Nicolai. Your family took over the steel business and now you control the Iron Saint. The Attanos are slowly taking over everything. The people of Lynchaven are afraid of you."

I balled my fist, my knuckles blanching. "Maybe they should be."

He looked at me like he didn't recognize the man who once worked for him.

"High Overseer." Luther leaned forward in his seat, taking his chance to speak after I had startled Theo into silence. "Did you receive the wine we sent over to congratulate you on your new seat?"

The question snapped his eyes wider, returning them to a bright green. "Why yes, Luther. That was very kind of your family. In fact, I do insist we open it now that we are all together to share the victory. Right, Nicolai?"

My smile was forced and tight across my face. "Wonderful idea."

While the Overseer stood to search for the bottle we'd gifted him last week, I asked, "Do you plan to maintain the blockade over the bridge?"

"For now, yes."

"Why?"

He popped open the cork before replying. "Why not? The Districts have been peaceful. Natives don't feel the need to leave home with dipped daggers or guns. The Square has seen more traffic now that the bridge has been blocked. Is there a reason the Row would need access to the Districts?"

"Besides the fact they have families here? Not everyone is afraid of remnants, Overseer. Honestly, there isn't a single reason you've mentioned that justifies keeping us separate. The Row runs off small businesses. Without the traffic you mentioned, they will fade and fall."

He sagged against the back of his chair. "The OIC will revisit the bridge next month when we meet again."

"Will we be invited, or will our invitation get lost across the river?"

Hartsong glared at me above the glass he poured, filling three crystal goblets with a generous amount of bubbly wine. "If you continue to cause anguish in my cabinet, you will not be asked to return. I will allow you to come back if you agree to leash some of your temper."

I raised the glass he offered me in the air in mock cheers. "To taming my temper and your fancy new seat, Theo."

He scoffed before taking a tasting sip. "What a strange concoction," he said. "The letter sent with this claimed it was a delicacy in your family, is that right?"

"My nonna has her favorites in the cellar." I smiled. "I have one more question for you, and then I will leave you be."

He took a deeper sip. "What is it, Nicolai?"

"Do you or anyone else in your cabinet plan to regulate the use of remnants more than the OIC already has? Beyond keeping us on one side of the city? Will you make it illegal for us to use our gifts in a way that helps us live and earn?"

He stared at me hard, leaving his face expressionless. "We would never seek to oppress descendants in such a way. We saw how that went on the Continent. It won't happen here."

Something like relief eased a weight off my shoulders—until the High Overseer choked on his words.

"Saints, excuse me, but I think I'm going to be sick." He set down his glass.

I set down my own without taking a single sip. I knew the stuff tasted foul. Had plenty of experience with Vex Veritas from my meddling grandmother, who took it upon herself to discipline her grandchildren. "We'll take our leave then, but I do hope you feel better, sir." I stood from the chair. "Come, Luther. We best return to our side of Lynchaven."

The Overseer did not see us out, and instead nursed the sickness spurned from his lie. This morning had been a failure on every front, and from what I learned, things would only get worse. We moved swiftly toward the carriages parked on the circle driveway in front of the manor.

"You're nothing, Attano." A voice stopped me in my tracks as a shadow stretched across the pavement.

I turned around, and Halloway loomed over me. "You can wear the nice suits and pretend you deserve to be in that room, but you will never belong here. No amount of money can change who you are—what you are. Remnant rat. If you dare come to this side of the city again, you'll find a different colored blade buried in your black heart."

"Niner blades are illegal, sir. Or did you not hear your Overseer's new decree?" I whispered.

"The Nine will rise again," he replied under his breath. "And when they do, they'll take this city back. Hartsong will either side with us or die with the rest of you."

I tilted my chin to stare up at him. Though he was a head taller and twice my weight, I made sure he realized who he threatened. Moments later, his cheeks paled. His chest convulsed as he struggled to gulp the air that I withheld from him. A delicious fear that satisfied some of my frustration glazed his eyes.

"Then I'll see you on the battlefield, Halloway. Bring your little blades. You'll need them."

I didn't release his breath until Luther and I were in the carriage, though I swirled the air I originally took from his chest between my fingers. A vow like a ring around my finger, marrying me to a new cause.

"You know what needs to be done," I told Luther.

He nodded. Grim understanding drew the corners of his lips into a frown.

"Good. Make sure it's clear when you cross. I don't want any blood spilled today. Not yet."

When we reached the Main Station, I boarded the Iron Saint. Luther took the carriage to the Square, where the mouth of the bridge spilled into the business-lined streets. When the train set off and reached the viaduct crossing the River Ada, I stood and peered out the frosted window.

My family and the other descendants in this city didn't cross the Narrow Sea all those years ago just to face the same danger. We wouldn't be silenced, singled out, or sent away. This time, we would fight back when they came at our throats.

Three explosions blew apart the bridge connecting the Row and the Districts. The pieces of that connection and the threat of it fell into the Ada, swallowed by the deadly current.