“Jasmine tea,” she muttered as she shifted the wood. “Sprinkled with lavender and a dollop of honey. We will have it in my garden and watch the stars. They’re so bright tonight, Ferma. Even with the moons out. Maybe it’s a sign for good luck or, I don’t know. I suppose I’d have to ask my father or a priest to find out.” She chuckled, but the sound died in her throat as Elena remembered her father’s hollow gaze, the pain in his voice.
“He told me about the priests,” she whispered. “About the Prophet and what you did. It was a horrible thing to do, but, but…” Her fists curled. “You were only following an order, Ferma. It wasn’t your fault. It was my father’s, and he grieves for it.”
She paused, gazing out at the desert. Only the wind answered her. Only the dark, empty desert awaited her. Elena felt an aching gap, and out of habit, she looked over her shoulder, to where Ferma always stood.
Shadows stretched behind her. A servant, catching her gaze, dipped her head.
Elena stared. The absence in her chest widened, and her fingers trembled around the azuri. Ferma was not here. She was not listening or rolling her eyes or laughing at what she had said.
“I am going mad, aren’t I?”
“No,” came a voice, and Elena turned to see Yassen approaching her with the servant who had disappeared inside the palace.
“What are you doing here?”
He hefted up a log, wincing slightly, before throwing it on the pyre. “I’m here to talk to her too,” Yassen said as he bent for another log. She grabbed the other end, and together, they placed it on top. “She’s listening and watching, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Aren’t you, Ferma?” He cupped his ear as the wind blew. “See, she’s laughing.”
“Nonsense,” Elena whispered, but even so, as the night air brushed her cheeks, she found comfort in it. “She’s cursing you.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Yassen grinned. “Ferma, you don’t have a foul mouth. You do, however, have a wicked sword arm.”
“Fast as a rattlesnake.”
“Deadlier too.” He rubbed his cheek. “You almost got my face in our first duel.”
And so they talked to the wind as the night stretched on and dawn began to color the horizon. Elena knew it was madness. Ferma was gone. They spoke to only a ghost, if ghosts existed. But as they spoke, Elena felt the pain in her chest grow duller. She focused on the fresh scent of the wood. The heat in her arms. The memory of Ferma, so bright and alive as they spoke to her, of her.
When dawn arrived, Elena stepped back. The pyre was up to her shoulder, wide and tall. Yassen grunted and rubbed his arm, stepping beside her. Before she could ask him about his injury, her father came.
Leo was dressed in white, like her. Behind him, Samson, Arish, and Majnu followed, then the servants carrying a stretcher with a body. There were no priests.
When they set it down, Elena saw Ferma. Her body had been cleaned, her hair braided in Yumi fashion, and her skin washed with rose water and anointed with ghee.
The servants began to reach for her when Elena stopped them.
“Let me,” she said, looking to her father.
Leo nodded.
Carefully, she cupped Ferma’s head. Her skin was cold. But her face looked peaceful, and Elena leaned down, kissing her forehead.
“Thank you, for everything,” she whispered.
Yassen took her lower body, she the upper, and together, they lifted Ferma onto the pyre. Leo stepped forward with the ceremonial pot of holy water and torch.
“Here,” he said. It was usually the monarch’s job to burn the body of an Astra or Spear, but Leo handed the torch and pot to her. “She would have liked you to do it.”
Elena nodded gratefully and placed the pot on her left shoulder, held the torch behind her back. There was no priest to start the chant, so Elena sang it.
“O beloved of the Phoenix, the skies open for you.”
The others sang as she circled the pyre. With each round, Leo hit the pot with the hilt of a slingsword, cracking a hole. On the third and final round, Elena dropped the pot. It crashed to the ground, water hitting her ankles as their voices rose.
“To be forgiven, we must be burned.”
She raised the torch and lit the pyre.
The flames spread quickly, efficiently, and as they swelled, Elena felt their heat pulse within her.
