Page 2 of Our Radiant Embers

Not for months, really. But I wasn’t about to volunteer that while the vultures were circling. I wasn’t about to volunteer either that the first one had been an accident. My mum’s knack for infusing everyday items with decorative or amusing enhancements—a necklace that predicted rainfall, stones that smelled like flowers in bloom—had inspired me to fiddle with a dehumidifier after our basement had flooded. Turned out that it could extract moisture directly from living beings.

It had put us on the radar. No one bullied my little sister anymore, and my dad had quit his grinding job with a construction company that worked exclusively for the Harringtons. We’d also had to move and reinforce our security.

“Aesthetics do matter,” Adam agreed. “Like a suit that fits, for one.”

Oh, fuck him—not literally. Jesus, I must have been close to alcohol poisoning when I’d decided that sticking my tongue down his throat was the way to go. Just because this suit hadn’t been tailor-made for me…

“True.” I inclined my head. “But even the finest bespoke suit can lose its charm up close. Much like certain personalities.”

To my surprise, Cassandra’s lips twisted with a hint of amusement. Adam, on the other hand, sent me a haughty look. “I seem to remember you weren’t all that opposed to examining the details from up close.”

Wow, okay. And in front of his…whatever, no less? Girlfriend, future fiancée—like I cared.

Also, we were starting to draw attention. No one dared to venture close, of course, because one simply did not eavesdrop on Adam Harrington or Cassandra Hartley, daughter to one of the Prime Minister’s shadow advisors. But as someone who’d been raised to be both aware and wary of my surroundings, I noticed the covert glances directed at us, the way other groups shifted just enough to keep us in sight.

“There is that.” I shot Adam a smile that might pass for polite. “Alcohol tends to blur vision and standards, doesn’t it?”

Adam’s eyes flashed with momentary irritation before he smiled back. I had to hand it to him—he’d mastered the art of donning a polite facade. “Sure does. Makes ‘never in a million years’ suddenly seem like a good idea.”

That arse.

I was about to counter with something cutting and devastatingly smart. I really was. Sadly, the words I had yet to find were cut off by a resounding gong. Everyone turned towards the stage, where the Prime Minister and his cabinet had gathered behind Mrs Blackwood, our hostess for the night. In front of them, five models were lined up, all depicting miniature visions of an urban landscape.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!” Her voice resonated in the grand hall. “Please, enjoy the music, the dance, and refreshments. Our esteemed guests will present their pitches in half an hour.”

Her words were met by applause. Right. Because only the magical elite would think that several competitors presenting their competing visions for a massive, magic-fused development project was a legitimate reason to hold a ball.

Too bad I had to stay. After all, one of those pitches was mine.

* * *

Generally speaking, I did not attend parties that involved mingling with a champagne glass. Give me a shot of vodka, a heavy bass line, and a dance floor—I’d be right at home. But sometimes, you just had to bite the bullet.

I left Adam and Cassandra behind and drifted for a while, forcing myself to stick to just the one glass as I waved off any waiter who tried to take it from me. Empty it might be, but it was still something to hold on to. No matter how tempted I was to have a second, I needed to stay sharp.

My pitch didn’t stand a chance. I knew it, Adam knew it—hell, even the waiters probably knew it. The Green Horizon Initiative was far too big for my family. To this day, the most ambitious thing we’d done was overhaul the security concept of a business compound run by one of the medium-ranking families. We didn’t have the Harringtons’ experience or extensive network of contractors and suppliers, nor did we possess their ruthless efficiency in keeping costs under control.

But it was a platform. The moment I’d heard that it would be a public display with most of the magical elite gathered in the room, I’d thrown myself into the preparations. My mirror knew my speech by heart, as did the rest of my family.

“Is that your resting bitch face, mate?” The question came from behind me, voiced in a bright, airy tone that carried a hint of laughter. “Thought you’re here to mingle.”

I turned to grin at my best mate George, glad to spot a friendly fish in this sea of sharks. “Just my true colours shining through for a second.”

“Isn’t that a rainbow?”

“I prefer to think of it as a multihued spectacle.”

“Aye, I’ll drink to that.” True to his word, George raised his own glass in a toast and proceeded to empty it in one go. He snatched another from a passing waiter just as Mrs Blackwood returned to the stage.

Showtime.

I gripped my glass more tightly, forcing deep, even breaths into my lungs, while Jasper Ashton ascended to present his pitch. It was solid if a tad predictable, just like Jasper himself—well-established magical enhancements and means to speed up the construction process, but nothing groundbreaking. Polite applause followed him off the stage.

“If they want boring, look no further.” George’s comment was a murmur, meant for my ears only.

I bit my cheek to stifle a grin. “Harsh.”

“But accurate. Let’s face it, the most interesting thing about the Ashtons has always been how much they hate the Harringtons, and vice versa.” He bumped our shoulders together. “You’ll do better than him.”

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