2

The native vegetation had been plucked out and replaced with golden fireblooms. Every hundred feet there hung an orange banner covered in bold, white text. TWELVE MILLION AMBLERS LEASED, one screamed.

Beneath the Hill of Nine, the blue-fire consumed the Floor. Only a dozen concrete husks remained of a city that once housed a hundred thousand residents; soon, they too would be gone.

Two senior pyros waited at the summit with clipboards and name tags. They wore pristine robes and flame-patterned leather masks. There was perhaps one speck of dust between them.

"Rank four and above, thank you," one declared. "The rest of you – return to the field office and prepare for the second phase. Apprentice, come get your name tag."

Sam's entire team retreated the way they came. No one protested. No one spared her a second glance.

"House of Dawn," one pyro said. "One apprentice."

"Leave us," said the other one. He was tall, with black eyes resembling two simmering pools. He waited until his colleague was out of earshot. "My name is Jack. The Second Progenitor of the Guild of Combustion, Senior Coordinator of Field Operations, and Head Liaison with the House of Solutions."

"Sam," said Sam.

"You're cute," he said. "House of Dawn? I thought Maestro Cowen only had his…giant – you know, the ambler that follows him everywhere."

"Her name is Lucia."

The pyro played with Sam's tag. "Necromancy is an admirable career. In a few years you might be giving me orders," he laughed. "You dating anyone?"

Hysterical screaming did not seem an appropriate response, so Sam said nothing.

"Is this your first Ritual of Mass Resurrection? It is magical. All that Green, coming out of their fingertips. The Maestros are…something else."

"No," said Sam.

The pyro's pupils shrunk as if struck by light, the whites turning so bloodshot they almost bled. "No what?"

"Not my first Ritual."

The pyro grabbed her hand, and Sam had to lean close. His breath smelled of rotten eggs and stomach acid. "Because I like you, Sam of the House of Dawn, I will give you the best advice of your life: a man – or indeed a woman – can learn to enjoy anything, given the appropriate incentives. The next time I speak to you, I want you to express that enjoyment to me with a big smile and an abundance of delightful conversation." He pinned the name tag onto Sam's collar. "Better get going. Don't want to be late."

Sam looked up and saw Lucia at the summit. At eight feet tall, there was no mistaking Lucia for anyone else. Her black trenchcoat billowed in the rising heat, and the long ends of her blindfold fluttered like wings.

Sam left the pyro behind and climbed the last stretch in a jog. She rubbed her hands until the skin was raw. Lucia pulled her onto the landing, lifting Sam as if she were a child.

The summit was ablaze with noise. Two hundred guild alchemists schmoozed under a row of silken marquees, drinking cold cider, feeding from a triple-tiered buffet. The pyromancers wore red-on-white, the preservers silver-grey, the other shades Sam could not name.

The Necromantic Houses had their own marquee. Nine out of ten wore the eye-watering orange of the House of Solutions. Only one other wore gold-on-black: Maestro James Cowen lodged on the far side of the clearing, standing out like a blot of ink.