the chair. “There she almost is, my darling. Do you think I’m mad?”
Booboo refused to be drawn, so Cenda set him on her lap and leaned back, losing herself in the flames again. Yes, there was the curve of Elke’s cheek, the twist of a curl, fat little hands, fingers spread like a starryfish. In a strange way, the pain was welcome, the piercing agony of regret better than the odd numbness that had afflicted her for months, so that life went on around her, separated by a gray veil behind which people moved and spoke and existed. And touched her not at all.
A bright eye winked from the other side of a burning log. Cenda watched with complete attention, holding her breath. If she concentrated, she might see Elke’s face. A flame flickered like a tail, like an animal darting into the undergrowth. Cenda blinked. A tiny lizard lay on the log, its body sculpted of moving flame, minuscule claws gripping the charred wood.
“Oh,” she breathed, no more than the smallest exhalation.
The little creature tilted its head to one side, watching her carefully. Its eyes were the same shade of blue as the heart of flame.
Great Lady, what a sweet dream!
The seconds tiptoed past. From deep in the Enclave, Cenda heard the Moonsrise chant, the strange five-beat rhythm familiar, haunting. Her fellow wizards, the Pures, would be filing out into the twilight to raise the Dancers, to pay homage.
She hummed along under her breath. She could hold a tune, but only just. Choir Master used to insist she mime the more complex passages, but the flame beast didn’t seem to mind her vocal deficiencies. Its head bobbed, and it crept closer along the burning log. “Pretty thing,” crooned Cenda, abandoning the chant. “Sweet, pretty thing.”
A second lizard crawled from between two glowing coals, and Cenda’s smile widened, her fingers buried in Booboo’s fur. She was undoubtedly mad, but what did it matter? Singing softly, completely off-key, she gazed dreamily at her strange audience, her long body relaxed in the chair, one foot tapping time.
Now she had three, sitting on the tiles of the fireplace, each a jewel of flame no longer than her middle finger. Steadily, they advanced until one reached the threadbare rug. At the first touch of a tiny claw, the rug began to smolder, and Cenda laughed, the rusty sound so loud in the quiet room it startled her. “Watch the furnishings, little one.”
The fire lizard quivered, but held its ground. Then it made a dash for Cenda’s bare toes. She yelped and jerked her foot away, but she couldn’t move fast enough. A leap, a scramble, and the little creature was sitting on her foot, hanging on with its talons, tail extended for balance.
Cenda froze. It didn’t burn. Sweet Lady, it didn’t burn!
That was—That was—She swallowed.
Pinpricks dug into her flesh, but the fire lizard’s body felt hot and smooth, like sun-warmed stone. Its little sides heaved, and she could swear she felt its heartbeat flutter against the top of her foot. “Sshh,” she soothed. “Sshh. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
Very slowly, she leaned down and extended her hand, the way she would to one of the Enclave’s cats. An excruciating pause and the creature stepped onto her longest finger, as delicately as a maiden lady. It paced across her palm, advancing until it reached her thundering pulse. There it lowered its head, nosed her skin. Apparently satisfied, it curled up in her palm and appeared to fall asleep.
“Goodness,” said Cenda, lowering her hand gingerly to her lap, next to Booboo. “Goodness.” How Elke would have loved them!
Sharp as a blade in the guts, it all came crashing back. My darling, oh, my darling. My baby. A vise made of bitter regret closed around her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Something tickled up the back of her calf. “Hey!”
The second lizard skittered over her knee and made a dash across her thigh, leaving a pitter-patter of scorched tracks on her shift. The third followed, right behind. Together, they made a leap for her forearm and curled around it, an improbable pair of exquisite bracelets.
Completely bemused, Cenda watched their heads lift, the sapphire eyes glowing as they stared deep into her soul.
At her back, the latch clicked. A brisk voice said, “Five-it, Cenda, what do you think you’re doing? It’s freezing and you’re sitting in your—Aaaargh!”
Grayson of Concordia, known in a hundred dives on a hundred worlds as the Duke of Ombra, lay naked in the