“The human has returned. He prowls the sanctuary.”
She did not reply. With an exhale, she coaxed the tiny flame to swell and fill her cupped hands.
“It is a desecration for a human to enter the temple.” L’yla spoke in a modulated, emotionless tone, but the acrid odor of disgust wafted off her. Words lied, but scent always spoke the truth.
The flame flickered, oranges and golds mixing with flashes of red. “And do my daughters also desecrate the temple?” the priestess asked in a low voice.
“No! Of course not! My apologies, priestess.” The sweet smell of fear filled the room.
“Leave me,” O’ne said.
“At once.” She bowed as she backed out.
Of the twelve acolytes, L’yla was the last one she would pick to assume the priesthood—not that any of them were ready. Perhaps no one could be. She hadn’t been prepared for the all-consuming duty. And the choice of successor wasn’t up to her.
The Eternal Fyre would decide, as it always had.
It had consumed three unworthy novitiates before descending upon her. She’d expected the same—had longed for immolation. Grieving for the child she’d been forced to abandon, she’d ached for the comforting blaze of death. Instead, the sacred flame had exalted her.
She, the unworthiest of all. She, who’d focused on self. She, who had chosen exploration of the galaxy over becoming priestess until her babe had been torn from her arms.
As priestess, she’d gained immense power. Exacting justice on those who’d wronged her had been dragonling play, but vengeance could not fill an abyss of grief. Only after Rhianna and Helena had found their way to Draco did she stop praying for the Eternal Fyre to end her existence by choosing another priestess.
If L’yla’s prayers were granted, it would be her.
She wishes you dead. She would kill you if it would advance her aims, her dragoness said.
L’yla is ambitious, but she won’t go that far.
She would! Why do you not eliminate her?
She is inconsequential. The Eternal Fyre will never choose her.
O’ne held the flame close enough to her face to feel the kiss of heat. Long ago, she had experienced the kiss of a man. A human. For all that the union had resulted in the joy of a daughter, she hardly remembered him. Time had erased his appearance, his sound, his smell.
Or had memory faded because another had superimposed himself?
She recalled her first glimpse of H’ry striding through T’mar’s palace. Tall, purposeful, confident, armed. So solicitous of her. Ignorant of her identity.
He knew now, but still he persisted in his pursuit. Several times he’d come to the temple. She’d refused to see him, although she’d been aware of his presence each and every time. Perhaps the wise course would have been to order the guardians to refuse him admittance, but the shameful truth was she could not.
His visits meant too much. She waited with eager anticipation for every single one, remaining out of sight but absorbing his presence, his smell, the sound of his voice.
She reduced the flame to a modest flicker. She was wrong to allow him to visit and fill her head with wishful dreams. It tormented her, and it was cruel to him. Her selfishness fed his hope.
More tenacious than the average human, Henry Winslow, H’ry in Dragonish, was no ordinary Earther. Like her daughters, he had fyre. Unlike Rhianna and Helena, he had not descended from her line. Another explorer of the long-ago Earth expedition had sired a child with a human but then voluntarily abandoned him when the rescue ship arrived.
His fyre is inconsequential, the dragoness mocked her with her own words.
Every fyre matters. She felt the flicker of every life, individually and collectively. It overwhelmed her sometimes. As long as the Eternal Fyre blazed, they lived. If the sacred flame extinguished, they died. No one had any idea of the burden she bore.
Do not the fyres of those who tore your daughter from your arms matter? You did not hesitate to snuff them out.
She ignored the taunt and studied the flame in her hands for signs. H’ry would board the ship to Elementa and be gone from her life. As it should be. As it was meant to be.
Her fyre flickered, alerting her he had departed the temple, carried away by a donatta who loathed him. His servant reeked of dislike and would do whatever she could to cause him discomfort. It is not for me to get involved. Secular issues were the purview of the king and his sons. Besides, the donatta wouldn’t actually hurt him.
That didn’t make her feel any better.
Closing her hand, she snuffed out the flame and then stood to allow her gown and hair to settle around her bare feet.
What are you going to do now? her dragoness asked warily.
Don’t you know? She parried, amused.
You are secretive. You hide things from me.
Isn’t that the flame calling the fire hot? She often suspected the dragoness conspired against her. Being two minds sharing a single fyre and shapeshifting body, most Draconians existed in harmony and cooperation with their alter selves. The two wholes complemented one another, each being what the other was not.
Her dragoness had grown increasingly petulant, angry.
O’ne silenced the voice of her alter self and left the tiny contemplation cell, her white hair blending with the train of her gown to trail over spotless marble.
The Eternal Fyre hovered in the rotunda. As she entered, it flashed, its corona nearly filling the sanctuary. She waited until it settled into the center before beginning the ritual walk. Within the massive snapping, writhing flame, she could identify individual fyres, and she singled out the flickers of King K’rah, his queen, their children and granddragons, her twelve acolytes, and the temple guardians. She isolated
