Burning Bright

[maderr]

Chapter Thirteen


The moon was full and bright in the sky as he slipped out of the carriage house, turning the darkest hour of the night into a strange sort of midday. The faintest hint of the ocean was carried on the breeze, mixing with the smell of horses and carriages, and a slightly…cleaner smell than would ever be found in the bustling city beyond the palace. Raking his hair into some semblance of order so that it wouldn’t get in his way, Raz rolled up his sleeves and made certain his breeches were tucked into his boots, his shirt into pants. In his vest he could feel his lock picks. He’d never favored carrying a weapon.

The massive carriage house was some distance from the palace proper but close to the stable. Taking a deep breath, Raz considered his options. The colorful spiraling towers of the Cathedral loomed, close but not close enough to make this easy.

Cutting straight across the open field would be the easiest route, sparing him the danger of the palace, running into whatever servants or nobles might be about. But he wasn’t certain there were other routes into the Cathedral – it was a part of the palace, and it was entirely possible that as old as it was, the only way into it was via the palace. In which case he’d trek across the field for nothing and have to risk himself trying to find a way in.

Though he couldn’t imagine that would be too hard to do. The palace was enormous; there must be several routes inside…but those routes would all be guarded. So he would be risking coming across people no matter what he did.

Best to take the path of least resistance, then. This late, and if he watched himself, no one would notice him running across the field. More than likely they would only think him a wayward servant anyway. The carriage house was perfect for assignations. Hopefully he wasn’t the only to have noticed that.

Taking a deep breath, unable to fight the excitement that began to thrum through him, Raz left the carriage house and made his way toward the Cathedral.

The snow-white stone of the Cathedral was surprisingly cool to the touch and as smooth as ice. Combined with the chill in the air, the hint of coming autumn, it was enough to make Raz shiver. Keeping close to the wall he began to search for doors into the place, loathe to venture toward the palace proper until he had no choice.

He finally found one around the back of the massive building, a door so old and neglected he doubted it had been opened in several lifetimes. The rusted lock gave with effort and with a deep breath he pulled the door open – quickly, wincing at the screech the ancient hinges gave, hoping no one had been around to hear it.

Slipping inside, Raz used shreds of moonlight to pick his way through the otherwise dark chamber…a hallway, he thought. As he ventured further inside, the moonlight faded away, unable to reach so far into the old room. His steps were small, arms extended to keep him from hitting something. With every breath he tasted dust and mold…and he swore he could taste smoke, old and ancient, as if soaked into the place.

Frowning, shaking off the strange thought, wishing he’d thought to bring something to cover his mouth, Raz continued slowly forward. Then his hands connected with something hard – wood, he thought. Splaying his hands, he began slowly and carefully to explore the obstacle, drawing a sharp, delighted breath when his fingers found what could only be a door handle. Grasping the old, ancient iron ring, Raz tugged hard – locked. Of course. Just as well. Too much good luck only foretold an ill end.

Kneeling on the dusty floor, trying not to think of what manner of creatures might be lurking there in the dark with him, Raz examined the lock with his fingers before pulling out a lock pick. After a moment he shook his head and replaced it, choosing another.

Several minutes later the old lock, not quite as rotted as the first one, gave way and he stood again. When he tugged this time, the door opened easily – and soundlessly. Obviously this door had been cared for.

He closed it behind him before finally turning around to take in his surrounding, elation coursing through him that so far his venture was proving successful. Looking around, he took in the Cathedral, feet moving of their own accord to the middle of the room.

Raz wondered why his hands were shaking. Fisting them to force the trembling to stop, he took in the Cathedral. It was even more beautiful than the one in the city, moonlight spilling through colored glass, making the room bright in a dreamlike sort of way. Across the ceilings were elaborate paintings and he found he could not tear his eyes away.

One depicted three dragons twisting and writhing around and through each other – one as dark as midnight, one as blue as the sky, the other so pale a blue it looked white. Behind them roiled water and clouds split with lightning.

Next was an image of a beautiful woman seated on a throne, surrounded by a great many white animals – a horse with a horn on its head, another with wings like a birds, a massive bear, a wolf…so many animals surrounded the beautiful, smiling woman. Raz wondered why he thought of her as a mother.

Eventually he moved on to the next painting, the image of the woman and her animals fading into what looked like dark gray rock, which in turn became a sort of…throne, or perhaps just a dais. But he found as his eyes drew closer to the figure sitting in the center of the stone, the harder it was to keep looking. Finally giving up, catching only a glimpse of something that made him think of a snake though a moment before he’d been sure it was a man, Raz shifted to the final image on the ceiling.

He caught only a glimpse of gold before the sound of footsteps had him whirling around, tensing to flee.

But his feet were rooted to the floor. He could not have moved if he’d wanted to.

“What are you doing here?” Dym asked softly.

He was still so achingly beautiful. Never had he seen anyone half so lovely as this man. The deep red and gold of his robes didn’t suit his brilliant green eyes…yet the ensemble didn’t not suit him either. Had the sun ever touched that pale skin? Raz could feel his nails digging into his palm, the pain all that kept him from giving in to the urge to touch that skin for himself.

This man had killed Pechal. He should hate him. Be trying to kill him. Have his revenge. It wasn’t fair that Pechal had died simply because this man had said he must, because the crown said all Candidates had to die.

But those green eyes were the saddest thing he’d ever seen. It hurt so much, looking at him. Why? Why did he care about this man he didn’t know? This man he should hate? “Why?” Raz finally asked aloud, voice hoarse. “Why does it hurt so much every time I look at you? I don’t even know you.”

The High Priest flinched, and Raz swore he could feel how much pain he’d caused the man. “I don’t know,” Dym finally said. “Why are you here?”

Raz scrambled to remember what he’d been doing, going cold as he realized he truly had forgotten. “Fire feather,” he gasped out, resisting the urge to stumble back as the High Priest drew close. “I need a fire feather.”

Dym’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“To save a friend,” Raz said, looking anywhere but at the High Priest, desperate for the man to go away again, trembling with the urge to do something though he didn’t know what.

Shame

Grief

I’m so sorry.

I never meant…

Please…

I don’t deserve…

Forgive me…

“To save a friend?” Dym repeated softly, and Raz shuddered as gentle fingers turned his head, tilted his face up. They felt cool against his skin, strangely refreshing. Like finding shade after being in the hot sun for too long. “Elaborate. Please.”

Raz backed hastily away, unable to bear that cool, gentle touch. But the green eyes remained fastened on his, and he didn’t have the strength to look away. Slowly, haltingly, he explained what he was doing, knowing it was foolish to do so but unable to help it. Something about this man…he would help…Raz just knew it.

If he hadn’t already been so shaken, the look of sheer fury on the High Priest’s fast would have had him running for the door. “That bastard,” Dym murmured softly, and Raz was struck at how shocked he was to hear the mild profanity fall from the High Priest’s lips. Like the man didn’t normally use vulgarities. “I cannot believe…to think…” Shaking his head, Dym moved past Raz and toward a door at the far end of the Cathedral.

Not knowing what else to do, weighed down by emotions he didn’t understand, Raz followed him.

Beyond the first door Dym unlocked was a second that required three keys to unlock. As the door opened, Raz was struck by a wave of heat .Like standing too close to a fireplace. Hesitantly, the High Priest giving no indication he shouldn’t, Raz followed him into the room from which the heat emanated.

The room was dark except for the thin beams of moonlight spilling through a small window set high in the wall opposite the door. All along the two remaining walls were shelves, each one filled end to end with boxes carved from dark wood. Into each box was carved swirls and whorls, and Raz wondered he could see such fine details so well in the dimly lit room. The strange waves of heat seemed to pour from the boxes.

He watched from the doorway as the High Priest moved to a shelf and pulled another key from the ring at his waist, inserting it into the nearest of the boxes at about waist level. Color seemed to spill from the box a moment, then it was closed and locked again. Dym turned and Raz could see a small feather in his hand – it was orange, red and gold, and seemed almost to glow, like a bright ember, in the dark room. As he continued to stare, knowing he was gawking like a kid watching a street performer, the High Priest began to whisper softly over the feather, one hand cupping it, the other hovering over it.

His eyes widened as the feather rose to float between the High Priest’s hands, and it was most definitely glowing now. Finally the whispers ceased, and the feather drifted down to rest quietly, no longer glowing, in the palm of Dym’s hand. “Here,” he said softly, holding the feather out.

Raz didn’t move. “What did you just do?”

“A curse such as the one cast by the Earl is powerful indeed. No one should be capable of such magic anymore.” He looked briefly troubled, but it vanished with a minute shake of his head. “I have placed the counter charm in this feather. You have only to press the feather to where the curse dwells within his body – his chest, it sounds like – and all will be well again. I apologize profusely that your friend has been so ill-treated.”

Still Raz didn’t accept the feather. “At least he didn’t die like Pechal.”

Dym flinched again, as though he’d been slapped, and those green eyes dropped to the floor. “I am sorry.”

Raz said nothing, merely reached out and finally took the feather. It felt soft – softer than the finest down, so soft it almost felt as though he touched nothing at all. Except that it was warm, like pressing up against someone after being out in the cold. Tucking it away, he started to turn away but hesitated. He’d come to solve the mystery surrounding the High Priest. He could do this.

But it hurt so much to look at the man. Like was staring at something he’d lost long ago. Something he would never have again. “Why?” he asked desperately. “I don’t know you. I’m a stupid thief. Riff raff. Nothing. You’re the High Priest. We have nothing in common. You should mean nothing to me. Yet from the moment I saw you, all I’ve felt is pain. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dym said quietly, voice taking on a rough edge. “Perhaps because I failed.” He curled his arms across his chest, as if hugging himself, and Raz realized suddenly that Dym fought not to touch him the same way he fought not to touch Dym.

An urge that was becoming more and more difficult to fight. Raz realized there were no answers forthcoming…or perhaps he didn’t want to hear them. Shame. Grief.

This is all my fault.

If only…

Not worthy…

I can’t believe…

Can you ever forgive me?

With a rough sound, Raz turned away, stumbling back the way he’d come, desperate to get away, to escape the pain he didn’t understand. Escape the man who caused that pain.

“Will you come back?” Dym asked softly, moving so soundlessly Raz had not realized the man had followed him out, was lurking so close.

Raz shook his head. “Why should I?”

Dym’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly. “I hope you change your mind.” Dym started to reach out, face tightening, eyes dimming with pain, when Raz flinched away. “If I am what drives you away, then know that I need not stay once all is finished. Please.”

Unable to reply, the look in those green eyes too much to bear, wishing that he could express himself properly, Raz simply shook his head in confusion – then turned and ran.

He thought he heard the High Priest call after him, but wasn’t certain and didn’t stop to find out. Crashing through the hallway he’d entered by, fire feather warm where it was tucked between shirt and skin, he fell out of the old hallway and into the cool field surrounding the palace.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, a third, Raz finally felt his wits were well enough gathered to continue.

Back the way he came, he supposed. He hadn’t given much thought to escape – part of him not believing he could actually carry this off – but now that he had managed it, it seemed the best thing to do would be to go out as he’d come in.

Sneaking back across the field and slipping into the carriage house, Raz crept to and rolled under the carriage he’d used to sneak inside. Hopefully the owner would be leaving come morning and not staying for several days. But it would be easy enough to pick a different carriage, so the concern was a moot one.

That problem easily resolved, Raz found himself with entirely too much time to think.

He’d come with every intention of settling things with the High Priest. Instead he’d run away like a coward and had left himself with more questions and no answers.

Because I failed.

What did that mean? Failed? Failed what?

Raz reached unconsciously to touch the fire feather hidden beneath his shirt, simultaneously soothed and tortured by the strange heat.

The High Priest had cast the spell on it so easily…no one, he’d said, should know such spells. Yet it was obvious that the Earl and the High Priest were quite familiar with such things. Raz remembered the way his hands had cupped the feather, how gentle they’d been when they’d touched his face.

A gentle touched that seared even as it cooled. Raz turned over on his stomach and buried his face in arms, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Why?” he asked softly, wishing that someone would answer him but dreading that they would.

Eventually he dozed, lacking the energy and will to stay fully conscious.



The sound of voices woke him, and he tensed as he realized they were right beside the carriage. Taking a deep breath, Raz strained to hear the low voices, bones melting in relief when he realized they were indeed getting ready to leave – finally. How long had he been waiting? From the light on the floor, it was well into day.

Above him the carriage rocked, horses nickering, and the crack of a whip signaled him to grab ahold. He waited tensely as they stopped an unknown noble was helped inside the carriage. Then they were off again and Raz nearly lost his grip, so great was his relief to finally be free of the wretched palace.

He waited until they were well away from the palace, hanging on until his muscles burned with the effort and finally let go as the carriage halted at an intersection, laughing as it rolled away. Climbing to his feet, ignoring the looks being sent his way, checking that the feather was still secure inside his shirt, Raz took a moment to get his bearing and then threw himself into the milling crowd, wending his way toward the pavilion.

They hadn’t discussed where to meet, but he knew they’d be there.

Belatedly he realized that he was carrying magic. Cautiously he looked around, but no one around him seemed to notice anything strange. Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Raz kept his head down and pushed on.

Several minutes later he finally reached the pavilion, looking longingly at the stalls and restaurants, stomach growling with hunger now that his tension had eased. Fighting the need for food, Raz raked the crowd for his friends.

A moment later he saw them, Shio waving at him, everyone smiling. Dodging around and through the perpetual crowd, Raz finally reached them and collapsed at the table with a sigh.

“So?” Ivan asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Raz grinned. “Here’s where I extort you,” he replied, patting his shirt and the feather beneath it.

Ivan made a face, but his steel blue eyes eased, and Raz was surprised that he hadn’t notice until then how tense the man had been. He shook his head, levity fading beneath concern. It had never truly struck him, until now, how awful it must have been for Ivan. “I’ve got the feather, but I don’t know what’ll happen so we should probably take this inside.” He gave them a pleading look. “And could I have some food?”

Laughing, they all stood up and headed toward the inn they were rooming at. Shio broke away from the group as they reached it. “I’ll order food, Raz.”

“Thanks, lovely.” Raz followed the other three up the stairs and to their room, making sure the door and windows were firmly closed before he finally reached into his shirt and withdrew the feather.

Ailill’s eyes widened, and Raz could see the way his arm tightened around Ivan’s waist. “By the Queen,” he said softly, almost reverently, “that thing carries enormous power. Nothing like the one the Earl had. Raz…how did you come by that?”

“Umm…” Raz bit his lip and dropped his head, then slowly, haltingly, explained how the High Priest had found him, and somehow pried the story from him, leaving out his own strange problems. “He…did something to the feather and gave it to me.” He shook his head at the memory. “He was furious someone would cast a curse. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that angry.”

He looked up, meeting Ailill’s eyes, skittering away from the Highlander’s pensive gaze. Frowning, he stood up and did as the High Priest had told him, pressing the feather to Ivan’s chest.

It flared, shimmered, then vanished. Raz stared.

“Well?” Ailill asked.

“Gone,” Ivan said softly, almost collapsing with relief against Ailill. “I may get killed on the job someday, but I won’t die from a scorching curse.” Raz thought it was almost funny the way the somber man’s cheeks flushed when Ailill kissed him.

He turned away as pain washed over him with so much force he sat down hard on the bed. He gulped, drawing an unsteady breath.

What was wrong with him?

“Raz?” Shinju asked curiously. “Are you all right?”

“Just tired,” Raz said, forcing a smile, reaching up to tug on a strand of her pale green hair. “I’ll be fine.” They all turned as the door opened, and Raz beamed at the food Shio held. “What would I do without either of my beauties?”

Shinju chuckled softly and ushered him to the small, rickety table in the corner. “I think you’d manage, Raz.” She stroked his cheek. “Now eat, then rest…then I guess we’ll figure out what we want to do next.”

Raz nodded agreeably and did as he was told, eating quickly and collapsing into bed, oblivious to what the others were doing. He fell asleep almost instantly, not stirring a bit as Shio and Shinju eased his boots off and tucked him in, missing completely the hushed conversation the others had over him as they left the room.




Chapter Fourteen


When his priests arrived, Dym finally realized how long he’d been brooding at his desk. He finally took in his surroundings, noticing the way early morning sunlight had replaced moonlight, and the chill of night was slowly warming.

Standing slowly, stretching out muscles stiff from lack of movement, Dym motioned his head priest forward and spoke quietly to the man, then turned and walked slowly from the Cathedral.

He discarded his clothes in his dressing room, absently grabbing a linen robe before washing off and slipping into his bath.

A soft sigh escaped as the hot water soothed him, reaching to his shoulders as he sat, lapping at his throat and neck, steam curling up to dampen his hair. He leaned back against the edge, staring up at the ceiling, the gray morning sky beyond the glass there. Beneath the water, he forced his hands to relax, lay easy at his sides.

Why does it hurt so much every time I look at you?

After all this time…

Dym shook his head back and forth, attempting futilely to shake free the thoughts that were tearing him apart. The memories. He had come this far. He wouldn’t falter now.

No matter the cost to himself.

He had promised. Vowed. Once, just once, he had broken that vow.

Get out. Looking at you pains me.

His thoughts were shattered by the sound of footsteps and Dym whirled around, staring fiercely at whomever had dared to intrude. He was in no mood for anyone, not even the Princess.

A servant cowered at the edge of the bathing chamber, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously. “Her Highness requests your presence, and says it is most urgent.”

“Where might I find her?” Dym asked, getting a reign on his mood, quelling his temper, shrugging in to the white linen robe before looking once more at the servant.

The servant bowed, clearly still nervous “I-in the King’s chambers, High Priest.”

“Thank you. Tell her Highness I will join her shortly.”

Shoving his private worries to the back of his mind, reminding himself sternly that personal matters were of the least amount of importance and that he should not be letting them interfere in matters of true importance, Dym quickly dressed in robes and gold chains, pulling on dark, brown leather boots before finally striding from his rooms.

As he walked, his worries fell back beneath the role of quiet, aloof High Priest.

It was not hard to determine why he was being so urgently summoned to the King’s private chambers. He had been waiting for it. So had the poor Princess. Nearly everyone else.

Dym nodded to the guards as they admitted him, but otherwise spared them no attention. He slipped inside and crossed through the parlor into the bed chamber, immediately seeking out Princes Sonya.

She sat next to the King’s bed, one hand holding his, tears streaming down her face, her sobs audible only as he drew close. Without hesitating, Dym drew her into an embrace, soothing quietly with touches to her shoulders and back, petting her hair, murmuring quietly.

“I don’t want to be a Queen,” Sonya finally managed, not releasing her hold on the priest.

Dym nodded and continued to soothe, hearing in the protest against being Queen the grief she felt at the loss of her brother.

Slowly her sobs quieted, and at last Sonya sat back, wiping her face with a lace handkerchief. “Thank you, Dym”

“Of course, Princess,” Dym said quietly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Sonya said, looking forlorn. “He looks like he’s sleeping…but he’s…I knew it would happen. I knew it. He knew it. All these past few days we’ve been reminiscing.” She smiled weakly. “About being children. How we hated all that tutoring.” Her gaze returned to the figure in the bed. “I wish I knew what to do. To say.”

Dym knelt by her side and took her hands.

Sonya smiled weakly at him. “To everyone else, he was King. But to me…we used to shove each other into mud puddles. Sneak into the kitchens together. Hide from our tutors. It feels inadequate, somehow, to say only that I will remember him always. That I love him. Like my husband, my brother is now gone forever.” Tears raced down her cheeks, but Sonya fought for her composure. “I don’t want them to be gone forever, Dym. Who else will I lose?”

Dym kissed the back of her hands softly. “No one vanishes forever, Princess. Sonya. A body is a temporary thing. They are not meant to last. But souls last forever, burning bright through countless lives.” He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles and smiled ever so faintly “The face may change a thousand times, but the soul remains the same. One day, Princess, when you least expect it, you will look up and see a familiar smile, a light in the eyes that once you saw every day. Behind that smile and those eyes will be a soul that calls to yours.”

“How do you know these things, Dym? You are younger than me, yet oft times I feel like a mere child beside you.” Sonya stroked his hair fondly. “So wise. You always know just what to say.”

Dym stood, tugging her up with him and released her hands, falling into a short bow. “Hardly wise, Princess. Were I to live ten thousand years, I would still be only the greatest of fools.”

“There is not a bit of you that is foolish, Dym,” Sonya replied. She sighed softly and settled the folds of her dark red gown. “Come with me? This is going to be a long day, and I would lean on your strength as selfish as it is to demand it of you.”

“Never selfish, Princess,” Dym said. “It takes a person of much wisdom and strength to know when he or she lacks either, and to turn to others for help. I will stand by you for as long as you need me.” He held out a hand.

Sonya accepted it and gave him a weak smile. “Thank you, Dym. I hope someday I can return all that you have done for me.”

“There is nothing to be repaid,” Dym said calmly as he escorted her from the King’s chambers, his presence and the obvious misery on the Princess’s face enough to forestall any questions. He escorted her to the throne room and waited as everyone gathered, standing patient and still just behind her as the Princess declared that the King was dead, and remained with her as she was taken away to begin make plans for her brother’s funeral and her own coronation.

As he stood there, listening patiently, always ready should the Princess need him, Dym let his eyes fall occasionally upon Duke Krasny and Earl Zholty. Especially the Earl. His fingers twitched with the urge to cast a curse the likes of which Zholty had never seen. Or read about. A curse Zholty could not even begin to imagine.

Because how dare the man abuse his gift of magic so. Once upon a time Zhar Ptitka himself would have condemned the man for daring to act with such cruelty.

Spare me. I grow weary of them all. This very night I die so they might live, and you want me to show mercy to those who hold life in such ill regard they take it away for the most foolish of reasons.

Dym forced his face to remain blank, calm. Not here. He could not deal with these memories here, before everyone. What was happening to him?

But he knew what was happening. To see that which he’d waited for so long was breaking him. Too much strain. So many years.

Why does looking at you hurt?

With effort he forced himself to focus, to pay attention to the present. The past didn’t matter at the moment. He focused his attention once more on the Earl, tamping down on the urge to put an end to the problem once and for all.

But there were too many pieces that didn’t quit fit together yet, and he would make no move until the picture was complete. Hastiness and ill thought action would only lead to greater problems…and grief. He was so tired of grief.

He slid his glance to the Duke, who was too busy frowning at the Princess to notice his attention. Another piece of the problem, except he wasn’t quite certain where Duke Krasny fit.

Someone – the Earl – was trying to keep the Candidates from reaching Dym. A wasted effort. No one could stop him. Stall, perhaps, but never stop. He’d come too far, waited too long, for anyone to stop him now.

From what Pechal had said, it seemed there were two groups involved in keeping the Candidates from him. Why? To what purpose? Why now?

Stranger still, why not simply kill him? Killing the High Priest when there was no suitable replacement would be much easier than killing the Candidates. But the answer to that was obvious – it would be too much for Princess Sonya. Everyone knew she was fond of him. If they killed him, there was no telling what she would do – especially in the face of losing her brother.

So kill the Candidates. To what end? If they had managed to kill Pechal, it would have merely delayed him a few years.

As to…Raz…

Any attempt to kill him would only result in the would-be murderers receiving a rather nasty surprise. Raz had taken the enchanted fire feather and felt nothing. His power was already strong, and probably growing strong by the day.

In no time at all, he would be hot enough to burn.

The only question was – would he?

Dym stirred himself from his thoughts as the tension in the air thickened. He laid a hand on the Princess’s shoulder. “You look in need of a rest, Princess. Enough is enough, yes?”

Sonya looked as though she thought she should argue, but at last gave a weary nod. “Yes. Thank you, Dym.” She motioned to the gathered nobles and attendants. “That will be all for now, you’re all dismissed.” She placed her hand in the one Dym offered and allowed the High Priest to escort her from the room.

“Would you like to go to your rooms, Princess?”

“I won’t be Princess for much longer, will I?” Sonya’s shoulders drooped slightly. “I had hoped to end my days as a very minor noble. Ah, well.” She shook her head. “I’d rather not go back to my room. Someone will find me there.”

Dym laughed softly. “You could take a bath.”

Sonya burst into laughter, then immediately stifled it, looking guilty. But her eyes were brighter as she looked at Dym. “I’m not so certain that would work.”

“Perhaps not,” Dym said with a faint smile. “Your gardens then?”

“No…” Sonya said, frowning over her shoulder at the people lingering in the halls, the few who looked as though they were about to approach. “Would I be imposing on you at all if I asked to hide away in your Cathedral for a bit?”

“Of course not,” Dym said. “You are always most welcome, Princess.”

Sonya nodded. “I haven’t been there since I was child, not for more than a moment or two. Guilt, I suppose…”

Dym said nothing, merely escorted her in silence through the halls and to the Royal Cathedral. He remained silent as he spied two men waiting for them there.

“Kolya,” Sonya greeted her cousin. Then her eyes shifted to Zholty. “Earl. What are you doing here?”

The Duke moved forward, and he gently took up her free hand, pointedly ignoring Dym. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, Sonya. We disagree, cousin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I grew up alongside you both…”

Sonya softened. “I know, Kolya.” She let go of Dym to embrace her cousin. “Of course I know that."

Dym left them, looking briefly at Earl Zholty before summoning the nearest of his priests with a brief gesture. “Dismiss everyone. See that no one comes into the Cathedral until her Highness is gone.”

“Yes, High Priest,” the priest said and bowed, then darted off to convey Dym’s orders. In minutes, the Cathedral was empty save for the High Priest and three nobles.

Zholty grimaced as he looked around the Cathedral. “This place always chills me. I do not understand how you can bear to dwell here every single day, High Priest.”

“Once, it was said, when Zhar Ptitka’s power still flowed here, no murderer or abuser of life could pass the threshold. They were repulsed by the power of the Firebird burning brightly from within.”

“An old wives’ tale,” Zholty replied contemptuously.

“Zholty,” Sonya said with a frown, “there’s no call-“

Dym’s soft laughter interrupted her. “He is quite correct. It was a story created for scaring children into behaving. Anyone can enter the Cathedral who has the desire to do so. All are welcome here.”

Zholty sneered and dropped the matter, his eyes roaming across the paintings and colored glass. “So those are the Storm Bringers that have returned to the world,” he said, pointing to the painting of three dragons on the ceiling.

“You do not sound terribly impressed,” Dym said in his level voice, “for one who strives to prevent the next part of the prophecy.”

“Gods do not impress me,” Zholty said contemptuously. “Look at how easily they were all killed. They can be killed again. I do not see why I should fear dragons when we are so close to killing the Firebird once and for all. Then what will the prophecies say?”

Dym lifted his eyes to look at the dragons – one so dark a blue it almost looked black, one the blue of the ocean on a clear day, the last so pale the blue was nearly white. They twisted and spun through and around each other amidst a whirl of dark clouds split by lightning, water crashing against them from all sides. “The Dragons of the Three Storms,” he said, voice almost idle, as if reciting a lesson he had given so often he did not have to think about. “To us, the Sacred Storm Bringers. Of all the five sacred kingdoms, the nation of Kundou is the smallest – nothing but three small islands. Yet never, since the fall of the Gods, has any other nation tried to take them. Why is that, do you suppose?”

Zholty snorted. “Nothing to make it worth while. Silk, perhaps, pearls, but it’s easier to trade for those than try and conquer.”

“Wrong,” Dym said softly. “It is because they control the seas. The full strength of the power they stole from the gods was never brought out, but had anyone ever been foolish enough to try and attack Kundou, that nation would have found its armies swallowed by the seas, torn apart by storms. Kundou is a small nation because its true home is the sea. The Sacred Storm Bringers claim a kingdom far greater in size than any other – the oceans and sky. A wise man would fear them, or at least respect them.”

“As I said before, they were killed once, they can be killed again,” Zholty said contemptuously. “As can you, High Priest, if we ever feel you are too knowledgeable about such things.”

“Enough,” Sonya said sharply. “My brother is dead only hours and you are speaking of killing others. Is this your idea of honoring the dead?”

Zholty bowed his head, looking contrite. “My apologies, Princess. As I said earlier, I do not like this place. It discomforts me. Those which we struggle against are honored here, and that upsets me.”

“You should not look at it so,” Sonya said. “It was once meant as a place of comfort, nothing more. Perhaps it can be again, one day.”

“A fine idea, Princess,” Dym said quietly.

Krasny snorted. “If you ask me, the whole thing should be torn down. The one in the city too. If we’re seeking to rid ourselves of the Firebird, there’s little point in clinging to things which bear his taint.”

“That would b a pity,” Sonya said. “I’ve always avoided this place, but looking at it now…perhaps we can simply find a different use. The Cathedrals have survived this long, it seems a pity to tear them down.”

Zholty and Krasny both snorted in contempt but did not argue. Sonya ignored them and began to wander the perimeter of the Cathedral, eyes fastened to the windows of colored glass, the images they depicted. “More of your stories, Dym? What is this one?”

Dym looked almost sad as he looked at the window she indicated, an image of a man who was clearly a prince by the circlet on his head and the finery he wore. He stood with a sword in one hand, his other buried in the fur of a large gray wolf. “Surely your Highness knows that story? Half the sons of Pozhar are named after him, though most of their mothers do not recall the story.”

“Prince Ivan and the Great Wolf,” Zholty said contemptuously. “My nurse new the story, and told it to me often while I was trapped in the nursery. She was discharged when my father discovered what she was putting in my head.”

Sonya frowned. “I do not know the story.”

“Consider yourself fortunate,” Zholty replied. “It’s nothing but nonsense. A humble servant left home to track down a thief who had stolen valuables from his Master’s house. During his journey he saved a wolf…I forget from what…and in return the wolf helped him along his journey. By the end, humble Ivan had so impressed the Sacred Firebird that he was declared the first King of Pozhar, and so touched was Zhar Ptitka by the bond between Ivan and the Great Wolf that he bound their souls forever. In every life, they find each other, no matter what. As I said, it’s a stupid story.”

Dym looked at him, green eyes dark. “You believe in gods enough to want to kill them, but you disregard the stories shaped around those very gods? How is such hypocrisy possible? Either you believe in something or you do not.”

Zholty regarded him coldly, eyes flashing with anger, monocle catching the sunlight pouring through the colorful windows. “You sound rather pious for a murderer, High Priest.”

“Of course I’m pious,” Dym replied, voice level but as hard as steel. “How many times have you killed a piece of a god, Earl? How many times have you said the words and the prayers? Watched innocent people die because they have a piece of a god’s soul in them? Do you not feel anything, charged with overseeing all matters pertaining to magic?”

“I believe gods are a thing of the past,” Zholty replied. “That to dwell on them now is foolishness. What good did they ever do that we have not managed ourselves? That is the credo of Pozhar, and if you are a threat to that, as I believe you are High Priest, I will not hesitate to have you removed.”

Sonya clapped her hands hard to get their attention. “Enough. We should be comrades, not bickering like children. None but the crown can remove the High Priest from his station, Earl. That same crown can remove you as well, and I will not hesitate to remove anyone I feel is failing in their duties or abusing their authority.” Her eyes were hard, knowing, as she stared down the Earl. “Which of course reminds me we have not settled the matter of the missing fire feathers. They are directly under the charge of the High Priest, Zholty, but you are my voice in all matters pertaining to magic. How is it possible that an entire box of fire feathers was taken?”

“For one,” Zholty said slowly, wiping his monocle with his kerchief, obviously holding back his temper, “the thief did not simply walk off with one whole box. He merely took the equivalent of one box.”

Dym nodded, agreeing. “Which is why it took us awhile to notice. One feather here and there would not go too terribly remiss until the total was discovered. But I and the Earl are the only ones with keys to both doors. Someone has either managed to duplicate our keys, or has found other means.”

“Magic, you mean,” Sonya said, making it a statement, not a question. “There are precious few of us who can use magic. The most likely culprits are those of us standing in this room. I will figure this out, make no mistake, gentleman. If either of you,” she eyed Nikolai and Zholty, “has something you want to tell me, I am retiring to my rooms for the evening.” She clapped her hands once, signaling the end of the discussion. “Dym, could I impose upon you to escort me?”

“Of course, Princess,” Dym said and offered his arm, leading the Princess away, leaving the Duke and Earl to glare as they departed.

Comments

[wobblygoblin.livejournal.com]

All this 'verse needs is a goblin or two and my heart belongs in its wordy grasp forever.

ALSO, I don't know if you've heard this song or not, but it reminded me heartily of the scene with Dym and Pechal and the overall angsty feel of the relationship between Raz and Dym.

Three Days Grace - Let You Down

(If you like, I have more of their songs. You know, this bit of the story also reminds me of the Muse songs I (think?) I sent you on that cd. Uh, Bliss and Time Is Running Out. HNERF.)

[stardance.livejournal.com]

Favorite Muse songs: Unintended and Plug In Baby

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Guh. That was perfect. If you have more, I will gladly get on my knees and beg for it ^_~

[vspirit.livejournal.com]

Whoa...I hear the word Muse. Bellamy + co are a phenomenon. Have you heard their new album? Inside, there's a song called Map of the Problematique. It's intense.

[melayneseahawk.livejournal.com]

Loves so much.

Didn't you do something with the story of the Russian firebird and a wolf and things? Or am I just demented?

[maderr.livejournal.com]

I started to do something once, but I could never rewrite it to my satisfaction.

[stardance.livejournal.com]

YAY IVAN AND AILILL ARE A LEGEND!!!! It totally has to be them.

Dym and Raz = ;___;

But I don't like how every chapter you bring up more questions that I have to wait another week to get clues for and they are NEVER ANSWERED. I want answers ;_____; Three more weeks? I'll never last that long XDD

I <3 Dym.

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Hee hee

I think those two are probably the angstiest I've ever done.

Hee hee. I guess I was a torturer in a former life?

[vspirit.livejournal.com]

delectable, as always.

merci beaucorp. (not sure if i got that right xD)

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Thankee, ma chere ^__^

[darknesslight.livejournal.com]

Hahaha! I forgot about that Russian legend! :D And I like how Dym is like... plotting. About the firebird. And is attempting not to fail again. Awakened reincarnation? Or has he just never died in the first place? Did he kill all the other candidates in order to save one as he waited for the dragons to be awakened? Or did he kill all the other candidates to consolidate the pieces of the soul or were those irrevocably lost?

I noticed how Schatten is not included in the cathedral, thus far. Or was it and I just missed it? Little has been said about Schatten. We know about the Dragons, the Faerie Queen, the Basilisk, and the FIrebird, but nothing of Schatten. Hmm...

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Heh, this entire story was inspired by that story, so it seemed a shame not to bring it in more directly at some point ^_^

Schatten was, very very briefly. And I'll start to reveal more about it in the third book.

[mechante-fille.livejournal.com]

*happy sigh* Even as sad as things are now, I am so happy with anticipation at how perfectly everything is going to work out. (I just know it!) Ivan and the Wolf is already perfect.^^ I love how the servant following a theif bit was worked in, even if the roles were... blurred. And the way Dym was talking to Raz and Zhar Ptitka at the same time. <3

Can't wait 'til next week!!

[maderr.livejournal.com]

<3 Thankee ^_^

Deathnote and TRC SPOILERS

[amasugiru.livejournal.com]

Just because I have to ask: which not so sublte plot twist takes the cake for catering to fangirls:

1. Chaining Raito and L together with handcuffs while Raito is in puppy eyes mode

2. Making Fai a vampire who can only drink Kurogane's blood

Scroll for choices, spoiler warning!!!

Re: Deathnote and TRC SPOILERS

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Hehehe. Two, easy. But they're not done yet, I wouldn't accuse them of too much catering until they flash "trc: the end". And let's face it, every series under the sun caters to fangirls/boys in some measure. CLAMP doesn't whore themselves out too much, I think their catering will play into something bigger. But who knows, maybe they are whores.

[magnet-dragon.livejournal.com]

You make me oh so happy. ^____^ The dynamic between Dym and Raz is very intesne. :D

Zholty needs a fucking boot up his ass.

*gnaws on you* More plz.

[phoenix-rinna.livejournal.com]

Sorry. I posted with the wrong livejournal. The comment posted by the user bealeave was from me, accidentally logged into someone else's account. And, because I am strange, I felt the need to delete it and repost exactly what I'd already written, with the correct username. So, this is the same as it was before.

I'm really liking this cycle of stories. Burning Brightly suddenly made more sense, after I finally read Treasure.

So... Dym is plotting? That's what it sounds like. Raz is the last candidate? And Dym wants him to awaken? Hum. The mystery ever deepens. I look forward to reading more!

[skylark97.livejournal.com]

Dym's comment to the Princess about the bath still kills me dead. XD

*tackle snuggle glomps* ^________________________________^!!!

[charisstoma.livejournal.com]

Is holding breath. We are getting close to the revealing.
So.... it was a lover's quarrel....maybe? *smiles hesitantly*

[tygati.livejournal.com]

If I'm starting to sound a little terse, I apologize. I'm more tired than I thought. x.x If another cup of tea doesn't help, I may give up for the night. ^^;

Hopefully he wasn’t the only to have noticed that.

only ONE to have

finally turning around to take in his surrounding,

surroundings, plural

the look of sheer fury on the High Priest’s fast would have

fast = face

a wave of heat .Like standing too close

Your full stop wandered too far to the right. :)

Like was staring at something he’d lost

Like he. You have a habit of losing your subjects... :)

He waited tensely as they stopped an unknown noble was helped inside the carriage.

AND an unknown

Raz was surprised that he hadn’t notice until then how tense

notice = noticed

chamber, immediately seeking out Princes Sonya.

Princess

lace handkerchief. “Thank you, Dym”

Lost punctuation.

He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles and smiled ever so faintly “The face may change

More lost punctuation.

One day, Princess, when you least expect it, you will look up and see a familiar smile, a light in the eyes that once you saw every day. Behind that smile and those eyes will be a soul that calls to yours.”

o.o Hello. Are you finally starting to explain stuff? >.>

“Hardly wise, Princess. Were I to live ten thousand years, I would still be only the greatest of fools.”

o.o ........ >.> ........... is he really....?

Dym stood, tugging her up with him and released her hands, falling into a short bow.

Mixed tenses. released should be releasing?

His fingers twitched with the urge to cast a curse the likes of which Zholty had never seen. Or read about. A curse Zholty could not even begin to imagine.

o.o Love for Dym. Scary Dym. But freaking awesome Dym.

But he knew what was happening. To see that which he’d waited for so long was breaking him. Too much strain. So many years.

*flail flail* O.O!!

too many pieces that didn’t quit fit together yet

quit = quite

His power was already strong, and probably growing strong by the day.

strong...er? :)

“Once, it was said, when Zhar Ptitka’s power still flowed here, no murderer or abuser of life could pass the threshold. They were repulsed by the power of the Firebird burning brightly from within.”

You don't identify who's speaking, and I had assumed it was Dym, until he pipes up a few lines down. 9.9 So was it the Duke?

as if reciting a lesson he had given so often he did not have to think about.

I think you need to end that sentence with 'it' but check with the Grammar Nazi.

“My nurse new the story, and told it to me often

Hononym. new = knew

so touched was Zhar Ptitka by the bond between Ivan and the Great Wolf that he bound their souls forever. In every life, they find each other, no matter what.

O.O!!!!! *flailsquee!!!* >.> .... wolf? o.o; But like SQUEE... *.* I always felt that the grey wolf got the shaft in that legend. I like what you've done MUCH better. *.*