The Fire in the East
The riders did not return.
Days passed. Then weeks. The snow continued to fall. The cold continued to deepen. The people continued to die.
Rhaena stood at the window of her father’s chambers, watching the east.
The light was still there.
Faint and distant, like a promise, like a prayer, like a hope.
She could not reach it.
She could not touch it.
She could only watch.
Corin entered.
His face was pale, his eyes were red, his hands were shaking.
“Your Grace, the riders are dead.”
“How do you know?”
“A messenger came. From the east. A woman. She is in the great hall.”
“A woman?”
“She says she knows you.”
Rhaena turned from the window.
“Bring her to me.”
The woman was young.
Younger than Rhaena, younger than Corin, younger than anyone had a right to be. Her hair was dark, her skin was pale, her eyes were gray. She wore a cloak of white fur, and her boots were crusted with snow.
She knelt.
“Your Grace.”
“Rise.”
She rose.
Her gray eyes were wet.
“My name is Elara. I am the daughter of the woman who hid you in the kitchen. I am the sister of the boy who threw salt into the flames. I am the friend of the people who have been waiting for you.”
“Elara is dead.”
“Elara is not dead. Elara is the name of my mother. My name is Lyra.”
Rhaena’s blood went cold.
“Lyra?”
“I was a child when you left. I am a woman now. I have been waiting for you. We have all been waiting for you.”
“The riders?”
“Dead. The Withering killed them. The hunger consumed them. The cold buried them.”
“How did you survive?”
Lyra touched her chest.
Above her heart.
“The fire. The fire in the east. It is not a fire of wood or coal. It is a fire of hope. It has been burning for a thousand years. It has been waiting for someone to find it.”
“The grandmother?”
“The grandmother is dead. The first queen is dead. The last god is dead. The fire is all that remains.”
Rhaena walked to the window.
The east was still dark.
But the light was still there.
“You came through the Withering?”
“I walked through the hunger. I walked through the cold. I walked through the dark. The fire protected me. The fire guided me. The fire saved me.”
“Can the fire save my people?”
Lyra was silent for a long moment.
“The fire can feed them. The fire can warm them. The fire can heal them. But the fire cannot save them.”
“Then what can?”
Lyra looked at her.
“You.”