Ironically, dry firewood and kindling were among the last things Kaveh placed on and around the pyre.
“Careful!” Kaveh warned. “You’ll get splinters.”
Yin raised her eyebrow—her only one, since the left never grew back through the scar tissue. “I promise I’ve had worse,” she said, tucking the broken sticks beneath the larger branches of the nest. “We need some dry moss and grass—really you should have started with that before you built the rest. Have you never built a fire before?”
“It’s been centuries since I did this part myself,” Kaveh sighed. “I suppose it would be easier with oil, but I just… I can’t stand the smell.”
“We can fit it in underneath,” said Cassius, pausing amid his furious knitting. “We just have to make sure the pillows don’t smother the fire before it can properly start.”
“Oh, as long as we can keep the stones,” Kaveh said eagerly. “They’re lovely, and maybe they’ll keep the fire from spreading.”
“And you wanted me to keep them in a box, gathering dust.” Yin teased.
“Oh, hush.” Kaveh sat back on his heels. “I think… I think it’s done.”
“Nearly done!” Cassius called out, needles clacking frantically. “A few minutes, don’t start without me!”
“It’s as done as I can make it,” Kaveh said.
“Oh.” Yin’s heart rose uncomfortably toward her throat. “Then… are you…?”
“Not quite.” Kaveh squeezed her hand. His fingers were uncomfortably warm. “But soon. Now… we wait.” Without warning, he laughed. “We wait! Oh, Yin, we get to wait.”
“As long as we like,” Yin said fiercely. “You can take all day and the week after if you want.”
“I wouldn’t,” Kaveh laughed. “We have a lot of rain ahead—can’t you smell it?”
Yin sniffed, and was rewarded by a round of sneezing. All she could smell was the herbs on the pyre and the ever-present sweetness of new growth. Perhaps a creature of fire was more sensitive to these things. “Don’t worry, the rain won’t touch the pyre. I made sure of it. Nothing worse than a soggy pyre.”
The smile faded from Kaveh’s face. “I can think of a few things.”
Cassius saved her from her own blunder with a little cry of triumph. “Finished!” Tucking his needles back into his bag, he took up the edges of his creation and spread it out across the rock. It was a lovely thing, big enough to fit across all three of their laps, patterned with teardrop shapes that, given the bright red and yellow yarn, were reminiscent of candle flames. Blue and purple wove through the edges of each shape, softening the bright design.
“Oh, Cassius, it’s lovely,” Kaveh murmured.
“It’s for the pyre,” he said. “It’s a little rough, but I wanted to finish before it was time.”
For a moment Kaveh looked ready to argue against burning it, before he looked up and saw the earnestness in Cassius’s face. Wiping at the corner of his eye, he turned and began tucking it carefully around the woven nest. Eventually, he sat back.
“It’s ready,” he said.
Yin shuffled up to his side, taking his hand. “Are you?”
He squeezed hers warmly. “Almost. This time, I won’t burn until I am.”
The Rain Emperor was not a fool. He did not stand and fight, much less try to pretend to be his daughter’s master. He tried to poison her, and when that failed, he made her chase him.
Years of sitting on a throne had softened his muscles and weakened his lungs. The chase was a short one.
Yin did not pause to clean her blade before stealing a horse from the stables and setting out for the House of the Oracle. She had debts to pay.
It was laughably easy to gain entry again. The Rain Emperor’s rule had toppled, and his princess stood on their steps stained in his blood and asking for an alliance. The guards admitted her with desperate eagerness.
She looked at the oracle with fresh eyes. No pampered child-man looked back at her, but a prisoner in chains like her, like the phoenix. Exhaustion and worry left deep bruises beneath eyes that took in her bloodstained silk and leather armor with cold satisfaction.
He had stood up at her approach; when she bowed, he bowed back.
“I owe you a great debt,” she said. “I am here to repay it.”
“We accept, gladly,” Lucanus replied. “With an empire crumbling at our doorstep, it is important to maintain friendships, wouldn’t you agree?”
Once, Yin had read a warning in Cassius’s eyes. Now he saw the laughter in hers, and the weary shadows in his face faded.
“Does your uncle always assume everyone is talking to him?” she asked.
“It’s obnoxious,” he replied.
She held out her hand. He took it. Yin cut down the three guards that tried to stop them from leaving; the rest hesitated long enough for them to reach the horse.
The chase that followed was much longer.
Lucanus and his men finally caught up just miles away from the Temple Eternal, where the road wound and meandered over rolling hills. Cresting one, Yin finally spotted the temple’s columns in the distance.
“Nearly there,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Cassius’s arms tightened around her middle. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He gave in to the urge to laugh as Yin steered the horse off the road and took the straightest path to the temple. “They’re gaining on us, by the way.”
“Good,” Yin spat, eyes fixed on the temple ahead. “They can enjoy the welcome with us.”
Cassius’s eyes flashed white, and he dragged the reins from Yin’s hands and forced the horse into a swerve, moments before a volley of arrows sang out from the temple guards. Screams rang out from their pursuers. He thought for a moment that he heard Lucanus’s voice among them; he didn’t bother turning to look.
“Good thinking!” Yin yelled. “Now what?”
Before Cassius could reply, a stray arrow grazed their mount’s face. The horse panicked and bucked, sending both of them tumbling from its back. Its flailing hooves narrowly missed Cassius’s face as it turned and bolted. By the time Yin regained her breath, the temple guards were already upon her.
“Truce!” she snarled. “Truce! Our enemies are the same, you idiots!” Someone kicked her in the ribs, driving the wind from her.
The pair were dragged inside; Yin bit and kicked whatever she could reach, while Cassius went limp as a dead fish and forced three guards to struggle with his uncooperative weight.
High Priestess Agape stood by the altar. The phoenix was standing at his full height, feathers blazing on his half-raised wings. Yin and Cassius were flung down at her feet; when Yin rose to her knees, she was eye-level with the scourge dangling from the priestess’s hand.
“Agape, stop this—” the phoenix hissed.
“My sisters,” Agape called. “See now how our final enemies fall. Today we restore our lord’s glory!” Cheers and shouted blessings rang out from the gathering.
“I’m not your enemy!” Yin shouted above them. “I just wanted my mother freed! We were running from the Oracle’s guards! You helped us! We don’t have to fight!”
“The emperor’s traitor blood runs through her veins!” Agape’s voice rose above the tumult. “Pay no heed to her lies, for the fire will silence them!”
“No!” the phoenix shrieked. “I don’t want this! As—as your Lord, I command you to release them!”
Nearly half the priestesses hesitated, looking uncertainly from Lord to High Priestess, unsure of who to obey. The rest froze in horror. A few flung themselves to the ground, weeping. Still more cried out in anguish.
“Do not fear, sisters!” Agape’s fingers dug into the phoenix’s back. “They may have corrupted our divine lord, but the cleansing fire will rid the world of their poison! Prepare the pyre!” At her commands, the hesitators dwindled. Some backed away, still unsure; the rest joined their fellows in following Agape.
And for the first time in many years, many pyres, many deaths, the phoenix fought.
He could not harm Agape, not while his shackle was wound into her braid. But his beak and claws gouged deep into any other hand that reached for him, until Agape was forced to hold him in place.
The pyre was a hastier one than most, silks and jewels and expensive scented wood thrown haphazardly across the surface, reeking of holy oil. Yin and Cassius were bound and flung upon it, before at last Agape returned to the altar and stilled the phoenix with a hand on his back.
When she spoke, her voice was soft, meant only for him to hear. “It is my greatest honor to heal you, dear one,” she murmured, raising the scourge. “I am your humble servant and need no thanks. As long as you need me, I will be here. I shall never leave you, as long as you live and burn.”
By the time she delivered him to the waiting pyre, his feathers were already aflame, dripping with his molten blood. Through the haze of pain, he looked at Cassius and Yin and saw a different pyre, a different face, so long ago but just as dear a loss.
No, let him go! Kaveh, forgive me! Forgive me!
Oh, Red. There’s nothing to forgive.
The image shattered. Yin flung herself at him, into the flames, screaming as they seared across her face. She kicked out, knocking Cassius away from the spreading fire, and held still until her bonds had burned enough to break.
A guard grabbed her; she slid the sword from his belt and ran him through, before flinging her still-smoldering body at Agape. The two women tumbled to the temple floor. Yin crawled over her until her scorched hand wrapped around the priestess’s braid and yanked it taut, before the blade parted hair, ribbon, and chain alike.
It was second only to watching her mother fly free. For a moment Yin felt no pain at all.
But the moment passed, and then she was in the fire again, one eye blind and weeping stinging tears over her fresh burns. Her hands, stricken with agony, curled tightly around the sword in one and the severed braid in the other. Cassius flung himself over her, and lay there awkwardly until he reached the blade with his bound hands. Once he was free, he pulled her to her feet and began dragging her toward the exit. With a cry of rage, Agape lunged for them.
The flames leapt higher. The reverent cries of worshipers turned to screams as the sensible ones fled. The burning phoenix flapped his ruined, disintegrating wings and hurtled at Agape with his talons extended.
“No!” Agape shrieked, shielding her face with her arms. The fine sleeves of her robes burned away. “No, my lord! You must stay on the pyre!”
“I choose my own pyre, priestess!” The phoenix’s voice rang out, a song in harmony with the roaring flames. “I choose what burns upon it!”
His eyes, ringed with flame, fell upon Yin and Cassius, bright with a desperate plea. They fled.
The temple burned long into the night. It was only when dawn crept over the horizon that the Dragon’s storms finally put out the ashes.
They awoke to a gentle fall of rain.
A rock outcropping was not the most comfortable place to sleep, even curled up with the ones you love. Yin threw off the shared blanket, shook the stiffness out of her aching body, and ran to the edge of the cliff. Far overhead, the distant, coiling shape of the Thunder Dragon darted among the clouds.
“Mama, you’d better stop that!” Yin scolded to the sky. “You promised—!”
She stopped. The pyre stood in a patch of dry rock, rain falling in a perfect circle around it.
Kaveh got up next, laughing as the cool spring rain landed on his hot skin. By the time Cassius joined them, the raindrops were hissing when they landed on Kaveh’s face. Neither of them could take the Kaveh’s hands anymore; they were too hot to touch.
Yin took Cassius’s hand instead.
Kaveh turned, and with only a moment’s hesitation, shed his human form. High above, Yin’s mother turned in a lazy corkscrew and watched the dry pyre.
It was a bright and cheery thing, the flowers still fresh, the garden herbs sweet and fragrant. Kaveh settled in among the woven branches and tucked-in pillows, nestling his already-smoldering body into Cassius’s knitted blanket with only a hint of reluctance. When he looked up, Yin and Cassius were before him, always near but not too near.
Yin let her head rest on his shoulder, shielding her bad eye from the smoke. “Is this what you thought would happen?” she asked. “When you started a war with false prophecies?”
Cassius was quiet for a moment; she didn’t register his silence as shock until he spoke again. “You thought my prophecies were false?”
She snorted. “I’m not stupid, Cassius. The priestesses only challenged the emperor because he threatened them, and he only threatened them because you told him they would challenge him. It was all very neat, I’ll give you that.”
Kaveh gave a dry, crackling laugh. “Hasn’t he ever given you the ‘future is a storm-tossed sea’ speech?”
“It is,” Cassius sniffed. “It’s always changing. The possibilities are infinite. All I did was find the possibilities I liked and give fate a nudge in the right direction, that’s all. Out of the storm and into calmer waters, if you will.”
Yin rolled her eyes. “I love you, but I think I’ll stick to swinging blades at our enemies.”
The sun crept higher over the horizon, banishing the morning’s dampness. The flames caught and climbed, and Kaveh tucked his head beneath one wing and let the world enfold him in its warmth.
No jewels or fine silks or expensive hothouse flowers graced his pyre, and no fawning prayers or songs in his honor disturbed his peace. Wood and stone and softness held him, while the warm crackle of fire mingled with the hushed voices of those that he loved. He smelled wood smoke and herbs and flowers, and fresh spring rain.
When he burned, it was warm. The fire was hearth and home.
He woke to cool rain, and two pairs of loving hands scooping him from the ashes into the midmorning sun.
