And then in a rush, it came back to Elena: the burning square, the crushed boy, blood blooming across Ferma’s chest like a carnation. Ferma, her Ferma, falling.
Grief stung Elena’s throat, her eyes, her nose. The pain felt enormous, intense; it pierced into her chest, cutting down, down, down. Her stomach clenched, and she crumpled inward.
Diya held her as she sobbed, her cries like those of an animal. Her stomach burned. Her shoulder ached. She clung on to Diya because if she let go, she would become unmoored, lost in a deep black ether of grief.
What had Ferma said to her?
You truly are a fool.
And Elena felt like one. She was a fool for going off into the city without her guards, without telling Ferma. Because of her, Ferma was dead.
Slowly, her grief blackened into rage. Against herself. Against the sniper who had shot Ferma. Against the heavens who did not save her.
Elena detached herself from Diya and rose, swaying on her feet. Her hands prickled. Her face felt hot, and she felt a sudden desire toburn, to destroy, to create a hole in this world as big as the hole it had drilled in her.
The fire in the hearth flashed. Elena reached for the flames. They reared back, as if afraid, but she ripped one off as if breaking a limb. The flame pulsed in her hand. It resisted, but she held on, squeezed, and it coiled around her fist.
Burn.She wanted everything to burn.
This time, she did not falter. This time, she knew every part of the dance as if it had always been within her.
The Warrior.
She squatted low, feeling heat build in her legs, and then thrust her arms out. The curtains were the first to light. The fire leapt onto the thin blue silk, eating, laughing. She spread out her arms like the desert sparrow, and the flames soared as Diya screamed, rushing out into the foyer. Elena guided the flames onto her bed. The sheets peeled away like the decaying petals of a lotus.
The Spider, the Tree, the Snake, she flowed through the forms, her anger—her grief—building power. The flames cackled. They rushed past her like eager shobus as she descended into her garden. She set them upon the banyans, and the air filled with smoke. Sparrows cried out as they fled from their homes.
The water in the fountain began to boil as the flames swelled. They latched on to an ironwood and tore it apart, split it right down the middle to reveal its white, fragile flesh. Elena heard Diya begging for her to stop, but the flames were louder.
Burn, they crooned. They wanted everything to burn.
Elena closed her eyes, concentrating. A flame grew in her hand, and she willed it to elongate, to strengthen, to strike. She saw the last form of the dance, saw the coiled muscles of the dancer and the heat in her veins. As she crouched back and raised her hand, lifting her fiery spear like a warrior, like a goddess, Elena felt something unlock within her—a spark that flared up her spine.
She felt the power of fire course through her veins, and it tasted delicious.
Elena threw the spear of flame, and the fountain shattered in an explosion of stone and dust. The boiling water splashed out, hissing. Flames burst through, hopping from stone to stone, setting everything ablaze.
And Elena wielded them. She swept her hands, and the flames turned. She beckoned, and they listened. When she pulled her hands in, they surrounded her but did not burn her; their heat licked her face like the kiss of a lover, a mother, a friend.
Like Ferma.
And suddenly the memory of her carved through Elena, through the flames. Ferma as she leaned her head back when Elena had braided her hair; Ferma as she took her hands and told her,I want you to have everything. Even fire, if you wish it.
She felt her in the flames. Felt her in the heat that brushed her skin. Elena held out her hand, and a flame curled around her wrist.
Think of the brightest light you’ve ever seen.
That was Ferma. Thathad beenFerma. But now Ferma was gone, and only the fire remained.
Elena clenched her fist as the ache in her chest reverberated through the inferno. The flames felt her pain. They crowded around her, wept for her.
We remember her, they cried.
“Elena!”
She turned and saw her father at the balcony. Guards tripped down the burning stairs. They made to grab her, but her fire would not have it. The flames plunged toward them.
“Stop! Stop!” Leo cried out.
