Page 4 of Our Radiant Embers

Did I have a chip on my shoulder and a side of pettiness to go with it? Oh, yes.

But hey, who didn’t love being part of a good uprising? Even if it was just a temporary tempest in a teapot.

* * *

Once the last proposal had been presented, the models were moved to the centre of the room so everyone could study them from up close. A decision would be announced next week, once the cabinet had convened to discuss the details. In the meantime, the piano player had launched back into his inoffensive oeuvre that most guests here probably knew from shopping at Selfridges or Harrods. Me, I was more likely to browse for a T-shirt at H&M than schedule a wardrobe consultation with a personal shopper.

I took a sip of the bubbly stuff—sparkling wine or champagne, not like I could tell the difference—and tried to project a sense of purpose as I moved through the crowd, looking for George. A few people nodded at me as I passed, several offering generic compliments on my pitch. It felt genuine, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t down to exceeding laughably low expectations.

Damn. Where had my on-stage bravado dashed off to?

“Mr Morgan,” someone said. Just that was enough to paint a speaker who expected people to listen.

I turned and—oh, holy shit. Archer Summers. One of our two elected advisors to the Prime Minister. In her late sixties, Summers’ hair was starting to thin, but her brain was as sharp as ever. I’d attended one of her election events, and she had a memory for details that made the rest of us look daft as a brush.

I cleared my throat. “Ms Summers. How do you do?”

“Splendid, just splendid.” She moved on immediately, clearly not interested in chitchat. “Listen, about those waste recycling units you mentioned. Can you give me a bit more meat on the bone, so to speak?”

Rubbish.

One of the most influential people in the country stopped me for a personal talk, and she wanted to discuss rubbish. Of course it was all in the detailed written proposal shared with the cabinet, but if Summers wanted my personal spin? Yeah, I wasn’t about to deny her.

“Certainly.” I took another quick, fortifying mouthful that fizzed on my tongue. “All right, yes. So basically, they combine elemental magic and advanced engineering—fire magic for incineration, earth magic to break down and repurpose materials, and air and water magic to purify emissions.” I reminded myself to take a breath, nerves buzzing in my fingertips. “What you get is a zero-waste process. Bonus, it even generates a small amount of energy that can be redirected into the power grid.”

“And it is truly self-sustaining?”

“It is, yes. The idea is to balance the forms of elemental magic in a way that they sustain each other once the initial energy has been fed into it.” At least we’d achieved that with our prototype, small enough to fit into Laurie’s old aquarium and assembled from stuff we’d ordered online. True to size might be a whole different beast.

Summers studied me for a second, then nodded. “Fascinating.”

Christ, did she actually mean it? Or was it the standard British version, wrapped in a tea cosy of sarcasm? People were bloody hard to read sometimes.

“Thank you,” I said carefully.

Her sharp eyes assessed me for another moment before she smiled. “Thank you, my lad.”

My lad. My lad?

I was thirty, for fuck’s sake, not a doe-eyed teen who’d just won a handwriting competition. Since this was not the kind of thing I should point out to Archer Summers, I smiled back. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“Not presently, but I look forward to studying your proposal.”

Dear God, she did sound like she meant it. Did that—no, surely not. I loved my family and fully believed that with a bit of time and practice, we could build something great. But right now, at this particular point in time? No one in their right frame of mind would hand a project of such proportions to us.

The Harringtons were going to win this race.

An exchange of pleasantries, and Summers moved on because places to be, people more important than me to see—although, to be fair, she didn’t make it obvious. Once she’d departed, I simply stood there for a moment, buzzing to myself.

The Archer Summers. One of the leading figures of London’s magical community, and easily the one I admired the most. Before she’d become a shadow advisor, relations with the government had been much more contentious, the tone harsh even as they feared what some of us could do, or maybe because of it. Somehow, she’d found a way to calm tempers and ease tensions. The Green Horizon Initiative was a direct result of that.

Right, okay. Act like you’ve been there before.

I sipped from my glass and glanced around, only to become aware that people were watching me. Most turned away quickly, but not all—one of the younger Harringtons kept staring with a pointed frown. Shouldn’t he be circling the room like the rest of his tribe, cosying up to anyone who might sway the vote in their favour? Because that sure seemed to be the Harrington agenda tonight, and they’d shown up in considerable force to carry it through. I wouldn’t put it past them to have come armed with a stakeholder mapping and key speaking points. Summers seeking me out must have ruffled some feathers.

With a smug smile, I tilted my head in a silent invitation. The bloke drew closer. What was his name again? Christopher, possibly. A cousin of Adam’s, if I wasn’t mistaken. Another fire mage, although a quick blink had his aura register as a mere flicker of brightness. Hello there, Spark. Thought I’d be the only one here not making the ground shake.

“Nice presentation,” was his opening line, doused in sarcasm. “Playing in the big leagues now, are you? Air’s a bit thinner up here.”

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