Daja heard a rumble in the ground. It grew like an onrushing tidal wave.

“Run!” she yelled, scrambling to her feet. She hauled Nia up. Together they raced down the hall to the slush room. They charged out through the ruined door just as the underground part of the lake shot through the crack in the cellar floor. Daja released fires with a gasp of gratitude as the icy Syth sprayed into the cellar, then rammed through its ceiling into the kitchen. Steam from the doused fire blasted with it, smashing the ground floor ceiling, then that on each floor, all the way up through the roof.

In the rear courtyard hands grabbed Daja and Nia as they stumbled into the open. Firefighters had come. Daja sagged: she didn’t need to hold any fires. Now people moved back, taking the girls with them, as water dropped from the fountain jetting into the sky. It would turn to ice, Daja knew, but it would also douse the fires.

Someone grabbed her arm. She looked up into Kol’s face. “What did you hit?” he cried, pointing to the fountain of water.

Daja grinned at him, foolish with relief. “That’s a very strong lake you have out there,” she said.

“Let’s take them home and call a healer,” Kol told someone.

“How did you get here?” Nia asked Matazi as her mother helped her back down the alley.

“We heard the alarm bells,” Matazi said. “We were just leaving your grandmother’s.”

They returned to Bancanor House, where Matazi s calm gave way. She wrapped her arms around Nia, weeping, telling her never to frighten her mother like that again. Kol went for a healer as Matazi wrapped Nia and Daja in blankets and installed them on the book room sofa. Both girls began to cough: Matazi fetched Jory’s lung-clearing potion and ruthlessly made them drink it. As they hacked and spat into a matched pair of crystal dishes, Matazi took the youngest Bancanors and the refugee children to raid the kitchen, a reward for their work at ringing the alarms.

As her lungs cleared, Daja retreated into a bubble of muted sounds and sights. Heluda was right. Ben was a monster. Daja hadn’t quite believed; she’d thought there must be an explanation, somehow, until she saw Morrachane. Until she felt that blaze, with enough jars of oil there to turn the district into a firestorm. As soon as she pulled herself together, she had to find a lawkeeper. She must talk with Heluda. Ben had gotten wind of her suspicions, but how? It didn’t matter. He’d worked it out, destroyed his home, and fled. He’d be miles away, free of everything but his fires. He could be found. As long as he had those gloves, Daja would track him. He must return to settle his debts.

Through her numbness she registered that a healer touched her. His power spread through her and through Nia in a gentle examination.

“Shock,” he said when he finished. “You must have been quite frightened.” Nia could only shiver and nod.

Daja stirred. She owed Nia something. “She didn’t show it,” Daja croaked, trying to sit up straight. She gave Nia a tiny smile. “I said that you’d find your courage.”

“B-b-but I d-d-didn’t,” protested Nia. “I w-w-was t-t-terrified.”

“Then you’re wise,” the healer said with approval. “Only a fool isn’t afraid inside a burning house.” To Daja he said, “Your body will be fine, but something burdens your spirit. Whatever haunts you, tell someone about it.” He looked up as Kol came in. “I’ll leave a throat soother for these two, but-“

Nia’s eyes, bloodshot from smoke, popped wide open.

She grabbed Daja’s arm. “Jory!” she cried and coughed. The healer laid a hand on her throat; Nia’s voice emerged as a rasp. “Daja, Jory’s in trouble!”

The twins had that bond; Daja knew it. Her numbness vanished. She tossed away her blanket and raced upstairs, knocking the healer, Kol, and even Matazi out of her way. Her scrying mirror lay on her worktable. Daja grabbed it and stared into its depths. She saw nothing.

Slowly she took a breath, counting. She imagined worry, fear, and grief rising from her skin like steam. She had to let them go. They would return, but for now they were in her way. Only when she was steady did she open her eyes and breathe onto the mirror’s surface.

A blurred image rose from its depths and cleared: Olennika Potcracker’s soup kitchen. Every set of double doors that led into the hospital was open; smoke roiled through them and along the ceiling. Jory and the rest of the staff shoved the long tables aside to clear a path for the streams of sick and hurt who escaped the hospital through the kitchen. Olennika Potcracker stood at the door to the cellar storerooms, her face covered with sweat. Daja knew she had to be holding back fire. Now Jory was at the water trough that ran along the rear wall of the kitchen, filling buckets and bowls as people brought them to her.

Ben walked in, a toddler on each hip. He handed them to a kitchen maid, turned, and plunged back through a smoky doorway. He wore the living metal gloves.

Daja thrust her mirror into her belt pouch and left her room. Matazi waited in the hall. “Jory?” she whispered, her eyes wide, her face ashen.

Daja rested a hand on Matazi’s arm. “Get Frostpine. He and Anyussa went to some winter fair. Call the charity ladies together. People with sleighs, blankets, everything. Yorgiry Hospital is on fire.”

Matazi rattled down the stairs in Daja’s wake. Daja explained to no one else, but raced back through the house, to the slush room and her skates. She grabbed two coats and put them on, then added gloves, scarves, and a knitted cap. She would need all her magical strength when she got to Blackfly Bog-she couldn’t afford to warm herself on the way.