Three years later 

With a sigh so deep Alyss was surprised the ancient papers didn't blow off the shelves, she slid the research notes—scribbled in a spidery hand—back between the yellowing documents. It was unbelievable that nothing could be found about such a life-altering event! For five months now, she had been combing through the science wing of the Archives, searching for temperature records from five hundred years ago. She wanted to compare them with her own data from the past two years—and with Thommen's notes. Her own findings were troubling; in the border regions, the temperature had dropped five degrees over the past year, and the ice was steadily claiming more land. Five degrees. Even an uneducated laborer could tell that this was a trend that would eventually turn all of Tranendal into a frozen tomb. And yet, the head of the Science Pillar dismissed the problem.

She clenched her jaw as Seymon's arrogant tone replayed in her head. The conversation from earlier that day echoed through her mind. "It's perfectly normal for temperatures to fluctuate, Alyss. A halfway competent scientist should know that. The strength of the soulflames is strictly monitored, and even if something were to go wrong, there are more than enough emergency protocols. Don't worry your head, girl, and focus on something more useful."

Well, maybe someone was sabotaging things and the soulflame measurements were wrong, because the temperature was dropping dangerously fast.

When she'd blurted that out, Seymon had only scoffed dismissively. "This is reckless speculation, Alyss. I'll be discussing this with your supervisor. This research is a waste of time."

Frustrated, she dragged a hand down her face. Above her, the immense planetarium creaked, stirred by a breeze from the open window. Five degrees. Her thoughts kept circling around it. If the drop was linear, they'd all be doomed within a few years. If it was exponential... she didn't want to think about that.

A fluctuation? She didn't buy it. In desperation, she'd gone looking again for records to disprove that claim, anything she could shove under her professors' noses to stop her research from being shut down. But nothing. Any knowledge that should exist on the subject seemed to have simply been wiped clean.

The dragon souls that had kept Tranendal warm for half a millennium were mysterious sources of energy that no one had ever thoroughly studied. At the end of the sun's dying phase, there had been ingenious Soultakers who created the Golden Heart—a massive orb containing two imprisoned dragon souls, which, with the help of mirrors, emitted enough light and heat to keep humanity alive around Tranendal. The rest of the planet Faux had frozen over.

And now those souls were dying. The temperature readings confirmed it—not to mention her light measurements, which were equally alarming. The claim that the soulflames were being properly monitored was laughable. Why was Seymon so convinced she was wrong? Did he know she was right and simply wanted to avoid mass panic at all costs?

It wasn't such a far-fetched idea. Alyss wanted to raise the alarm, sure, but even she had no clue how to fix it. There were no dragons left to supply a new soul, and all the Soultakers had been wiped out. She thought of Mart. Almost all the Soulstrippers. But revealing anything about his powers would be a death sentence—for him and for her. That cursed oath from five years ago had made sure of that.

Grinding her teeth, she shoved her belongings into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Maybe that was it. The few people she'd dared to confide in about her research were simply burying their heads in the sand. There was nothing they could do about it anyway. Most of the Scions seemed determined to enjoy life for as long as it lasted.

Alyss strode out of the Archives. The giant clock, its interlocking gears spanning the entire wall opposite her, showed that it wouldn't be long before the Golden Heart dimmed and the eight-hour darkness began.

It was too late to visit her brother. She'd have to wait until tomorrow to vent, after yet another restless night tossing and turning in bed.

Alyss leaned her back against the wall of the elevator. It rattled downward past ninety floors. She and her family lived near the very top of the Science Pillar—at least, the residential part. The pillar itself stretched so high into the sky that no one could see the top from the ground. Their altitude emphasized their status, but aside from the view of Tranendal and the surrounding mountains, Alyss didn't see many advantages to living so high up. The descent took forever.

Not that she planned to live there forever. She was twenty. Her parents were increasingly nudging her toward finding a partner; their combined credit would then determine where they would live. And in which Pillar, if she chose someone outside the circle of Scientists.

She could, in theory, live alone. But single adults were looked down on, as though they were defective. Something Alyss liked to pretend she didn't care about—except it didn't just affect her own status, but her family's too. Her parents would never approve, and without their credit boost, she wouldn't be able to afford a decent home anyway.

Luckily, she still had about five years before the pressure really started. And who knows—maybe by then Tranendal would be covered in ice, and everyone would be too dead to care about such things.

A soft ping signaled that the lift had reached the bottom. She waited for the four Scions who'd joined on other floors to step out before exiting past the lift attendants.

The air dock was nearby. A bullet pod would've been faster, but Alyss wasn't in a hurry, and the flight to the City of the Dead was expensive.

Soon she was climbing the steps to the dock where several airships were moored. The one to the City of the Dead had no more stops after the valley's edge, where she lived. She took a seat and loosened the collar of her heavy coat. Before they reached the ice fields, the ship would ascend and pass through the warmth of the Golden Heart. It felt colder today. Probably just in her head—though there had once been seasons and changing weather, their current light source gave off constant heat. Rain barely ever fell here, although she'd heard it was different farther from Tranendal, where the Golden Heart had less reach and the oases had their own light and heat sources.

Alyss wondered if there might be a solution there, but she dismissed the thought. Those sources were soul-powered too. They would also burn out.

The ferry began to move. Alyss folded her hands and thought of her brother. She missed him.

The cold was so biting that Alyss injected a heat tincture, despite her thick clothing. Ever since she'd picked up her brother's research two years ago, she'd spent a lot of time on the ice fields. But the City of the Dead always felt especially cold.

She walked through the silent streets. Here, everyone was equal, whether they had lived as a laborer or as a Scion. Families were allowed to design their loved ones' final resting places, though in practice the Scions had more time and resources to devote to it.

Thommen's tomb was beautiful; a small palace sparkling in the distant glow of the Golden Heart. That was mostly thanks to Aravin, who could shape ice with his tinctures without needing days of labor.

As always, the thought of Aravin twisted her gut. He had taken so much from her—and still, she couldn't hate him. They shared a pain and sorrow no one else understood, something that, despite the storm of emotions, had drawn them together. After losing Mart, she'd grown apart from her old friends. She'd fallen in love with a killer. That gave people plenty to talk about.

Alyss pushed open the door. A dark green carpet muffled her steps. The color reminded her of her brother's eyes. She walked into what had been arranged like a living room. A spacious couch offered enough room for her, her parents, and her sister. On Thommen's birthday and death day, they always came here together.

Alyss sat in her usual corner, across from the armchair where her brother sat. "I brought you a new book. By Didiron. Your favorite author, right?" She placed the book on the table.

She pushed aside the thought that—even if his soul was still here—he wouldn't be able to open it. It was tradition to bring something for the inhabitants of the City of the Dead. Alyss wasn't about to break that. It grounded her. It helped her keep him close.

"I went to Seymon with my findings." Her eyes traced his pale face. His features were smoothed out, the ice fully settled in her brother. She swallowed the lump in her throat and hurried on. "He wants me to stop the research. Flat-out denies that anything's wrong. Bizarre attitude for someone in his position, don't you think?" She sighed. "Yeah, I know you didn't want me to dig into this. That you thought it was dangerous. But if I don't... who will?" She bit her lip. "I already lost you, Tom," she whispered. "Am I supposed to wait until Vaux freezes over and Mila, mom, and dad end up looking like ice sculptures too?" She drew a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. The sudden wave of emotion caught her off guard. Her mind went back to that fateful day, three years ago. The images she'd seen. The tattoo.

For a moment, she'd considered that the tattoo might be the mark of a group. But searching the Archives had turned up nothing, and the Enforcers investigating Thommen's death hadn't recognized it either.

A thought hit her so hard she nearly slid off the icy chair. What if Seymon was behind it? Could he have silenced Thommen to prevent the very hysteria he feared?

The idea that the head of the Science Pillar was responsible made her nauseous. She pressed her forearms against her stomach as cramps surged through her.

But why hadn't Thommen's research vanished? Seymon would've had the power to erase it. Instead, his colleagues had delivered it neatly to their home.

Alyss calmed slightly. Seymon was right—now she really was wildly speculating. And as awful as it was that her brother's killer was still free, what mattered more right now was the dying light. She needed to tell someone. Someone still alive. Someone who could help.

"Should I tell Aravin?" She fiddled with her nails. "He owes me more than a little. And he... he's not as shallow as he pretends to be." She stifled a sigh. But would he even want to help with this?

In the silence her brother gave in return, the beginnings of a plan took shape. If they wanted to save the Golden Heart, they needed new dragon souls. As far as she knew, there was only one person who could make that happen.

He hated Aravin, hated her... and yet...

What choice did they have?

Alyss was at the end of her rope. She didn't want everyone she loved to end up cold and dead, just like her brother.