We just stare at each other, years of memories between us. She’s my best friend.
If it were her, I would say the same. She knows it.
She leads me to the edge of a cliff. Below, there’s only sea.
“Let it all out, Oro,” she says. “I’m here. You are not alone.”
You are not alone.
I swallow. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She shakes her head. “You would never hurt me,” she says. Truth. She believes it wholly. She believes inme.
Her lips quirk. “And I know my death, remember? It doesn’t happen here and now.” Enya grips my hand. “So let it out, Oro. Everything you’ve been pushing down. Just ... let it all go.”
Let it all go.
My chest burns as a current rises within me. It feels inevitable, like retching. Like something that must come out eventually.
My sun, my mother calls me. I was born at high noon, in searing heat. I’m the child in the burning crib, staring quietly through the flames. How she must have wondered if my powers would lead to good ... or destruction ...
Destruction. Flashes of images—Albert. The gilding. The proud smile on my father’s face.
The shame within me.
Suchshame.
Anger churns through my blood, anger at this power, at my actions, at my responsibility, at the fact that I know I can never push this down, it will always be in me, waiting to catch fire, indifferent if I burn with it.
I close my eyes and see the world burning. I see myself setting it aflame.
No. I will control it. I won’t let the world become ashes.
Find your fire.
FIND IT.
I sink to my knees, and bellow.
Everything comes rushing out.
Fire shoots from my hand, the one that isn’t clutching Enya’s. It paints the sea red with flames. I burn and burn and burn until there’s nothing left, then I fall forward, gasping, tears slipping down my cheeks.
Enya’s hand is on my shoulder. She’s kneeling next to me.You are not alone.
When I open my eyes, the ocean is on fire.
Find your fire, my mother said.
I have. And I’m afraid of what it means.
FAVORITE PLACE
Enya has yet to tell me how she will die, even though I ask her once every year, on my birthday—or, as she likes to call it, the anniversary of our friendship, since that’s when we first met.
Our last year of Sunling training, we celebrate by stealing Sunling wine and sneaking out of the training camp.
“Where are we going?” she asks, as I lead her through a forest. “We’ve been walking for an hour. If I had known it would be this far, I wouldn’t have taken so many bottles.”
