The Fire Children (17 page)

As she rose, multi-colored tongues of flame left Ember’s palms and surrounded her. No heat came off of them, but their light made shifting patterns on the cave wall. They shaped themselves into the bell of a skirt and closed around her waist. Yulla gave an experimental twirl, and the flames flared out just the way the silks did on the real
versam
dresses.

She took a few steps, and the skirt even swished like silk, brushing her ankles but not burning her.
All right, then.
She gauged the length of the cave and launched into the
step-step-twirl
pattern of the dance. She could do it twice before having to work her way back, and adjusted her gait to account for it. Up and back twice, fascinated by the way the hundreds of tiny flames moved with her. She hummed the melody as she went, lost in the dance.

Then Ember was with her, his flames tamped down to nothing at all. He caught her smoothly at the end of the twirl, and she slipped into the position as though they’d been practicing together for months. She’d walked through the steps with her friends before, and once or twice, her partner had even been a boy her age, but it had been nothing like this. Ember held her injured hand carefully, his touch feather-light.

With his flames dampened, his skin had cooled to a dark greyish brown. Yulla had admired what she’d seen when he was covered in fire, but now she couldn’t help but notice the lines of his jaw, the arch of his brows. She told herself the heat rising in her cheeks was from being this close to him—he was still as warm as a fever patient.

“You can dance,” she said, as he led her into another twirl and guided them toward the mouth of the cave. She winced inwardly.
Of course he can, you idiot.

But Ember only looked pleased. “It looked like fun.”

He twirled her again, then they abandoned the pattern of the
versam
and simply danced around in slow circles. The skirt lost its shape as the flames that comprised it guttered out. A few stubborn ones floated up to hover around Yulla and Ember like fireflies. With his own fires out, they provided the only light in the cave.

Their shuffling steps slowed, too, though Yulla didn’t know whether she’d slowed them down or Ember had. They came to a stop, but neither let go of the other.

“Can I kiss you?” Ember’s voice was barely a whisper.

Yulla nodded, hoping he could see it in the dim light. Her burnt fingers throbbed with the slamming of her heart as Ember bent his head toward her.
This is real, this is going to happen.
She’d been kissed before, a couple of times. It was an odd relief to think she at least knew the
how
of it, to avoid the awkward bumbling about as you closed your eyes and tried to meet the other person halfway. Still, no one would ever believe this—she hardly believed it herself. Only the twinging of her burnt fingers assured her it wasn’t a dream.

Then she forgot all about the pain in her hand—she forgot all about
everything
—as he pressed his lips to hers.

K
ELL HAD RECENTLY
acquired a taste for books that spoke of searing kisses and burning passions. Yulla, of course, swiped them from Kell’s bedside table as soon as she finished them. Never, in all the times she’d paused in her reading to imagine just what those kisses would feel like, had she pictured this.

Ember’s lips were soft yet firm. He tasted of sandalwood and acacia, and when they broke apart for a moment, his breath was hot on her cheek. Then they were kissing again, and though she was sure he
could
have seared her he didn’t. She ran her hands over his back, a small thrill going through her when it dawned that he was shirtless without his flames. His smooth skin cooled even under her touch to something more solid. In places it felt almost like bronze.

It clicked again that he was bare from the waist up. Curiosity demanded she know the rest; decorum and embarrassment kept her from being obvious about it. She hoped. She let her left hand drift down to his hip, where it seemed safest to go, and was relieved to find something like a waistband. Whether he’d conjured trousers or had been wearing them beneath the flames didn’t matter; she tucked those questions away for later and let herself get lost in the kisses awhile longer.

She trailed kisses along his jaw while he tangled his hands in her hair. In Kell’s books, the heroine’s hair was never dusty or dirty—or if it was, it was prettily so and never a problem. But Yulla hadn’t even thought to steal a comb while she pilfered that last family’s offerings, and now and again she felt the tug as Ember’s fingers caught on yet another knot. It didn’t deter him, though. When it happened he’d withdraw gently and cup her cheek, or trace a line from her shoulder to her elbow, and murmur an apology as he sought her lips once more.

The longer they kissed, the cooler Ember grew. His skin still yielded beneath her touch, but reluctantly. Then she found the spot just above his elbow, where a patch the size of a coin
didn’t
give when she pressed.

And it was spreading.

Yulla thought about what he’d said earlier, that it made him tired to dampen his flames. Something else came back to her too, what he’d said the witch-women would do to him and his brothers and sisters once they’d caught them. They’d put the Fire Children’s flames out, he’d thought, and if they succeeded...

... it would be agony.

Yulla shoved Ember away. “No, wait. Stop.”

He staggered backwards, surprised, and caught himself against the wall. “Yulla? Did I hurt you?” The last of the little flames winked out. Only his eyes glowed in the darkness.

She realized, too, how quickly the cave had cooled without Ember blazing away. While he’d held her, she’d been plenty warm. Now her arms broke out in gooseflesh. It almost made her want to step back into his embrace. Well, that, and how nice his kisses had been. She shook off the thought. “No. You’re hurting yourself. Bring your fire back. Now.”

“I’m all right. It doesn’t hurt that much.” There was a lie there, but not a cruel one. It was the kind of lie you told when you wanted more of a thing someone else wanted to take away:

I’m not tired, Abba, let me stay up for one more shooting star.

I’m not full, Amma, I saved room for dessert.

I’m not in pain, Yulla, let me kiss you again.

When she felt him reach for her she pulled away, letting that and her silence serve as her answer. A few heartbeats went by before she heard him lower his arms. “All right.” He sighed, and the rustling, match-flaring sound of it was lost in his own flames returning.

Yulla had to squint against the light. It seemed bright as daylight at first, after the scant glow of their dance. When she could see his face again, a maddening smile played around Ember’s lips. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s funny. It hurt, but it was worth it.”

Yulla ducked her head, trying to hide her own pleased grin. “Oh.”

“Did you... Did
you
like it?”

“I liked it very much.” She cringed at how awkward she must sound. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We need you strong if we’re going to try talking to the Wind. If the witch-women are nearby, we’ll have to run again. I can’t be what makes you weak.” She found the courage to look at him, and saw how her words had stung. “If we fix this,” she said, casting about for something to soften it, “if we save the others, then maybe we can, um...”

He nodded, saving her from the mortification creeping in at the idea of finishing that sentence. “You should get some sleep. I’m not the only one who might have to run tomorrow.”

She struggled not to argue, not to tell the same kind of lie Ember had:
I’m not tired; tell me more stories about you.
But he was right. The wave of fatigue caught up to her, as though her body had suddenly tallied up all of the exertion and the fear of the day, factored in how she’d spent the last few minutes dancing with and then
kissing
one of the Fire Children, and decided no, that was quite enough, thank you. Yulla counted it a success that she didn’t yawn.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she returned to where she’d left Aunt Mouse’s quilt, wrapped herself in it, and stretched out along the cave floor. “Wake me up when you get tired,” she said, thinking of how the guards on Kaladim’s towers planned their watches. “I can keep an eye out so you can sleep, too.”

“I don’t need to sleep.” Ember settled down near her, close enough that she didn’t need the quilt for warmth. She sat up long enough to fold it into a makeshift pillow, then lay back down.

“What will you do all night?”

“I’ll keep watch. I’ll make a plan. If I get bored, there are plenty of stories right here.” He gestured at the food she’d brought with her. “I’ll stay close so you don’t get cold.” Then he leaned in, extinguishing his flames just long enough to drop a kiss on her forehead, right where Vedra had only the night before. Where the witch-woman’s kiss had burned like a brand, Ember’s was only a rush of warmth, one that spread out and settled over her like a blanket. The light came back and he turned away, giving her what little privacy he could in the small space.

She fell asleep to the crackle of his flames.

T
HE THROB IN
her fingers pulled her from a dream of being chased by the witch-women. She remembered only bits of it—knowing Ember was somewhere ahead of her, trying to head them off before they found him. There’d been a rooftop, only this time when she leapt from one to the other, she didn’t make it. She’d thrown her hands out before her as she fell, to stop the ground from rushing up. She must have done it here, too, and smacked the burns against the stone.

Yulla sat up, sticking her aching fingers into her mouth. The fear from the dream leached away, and as the sweat that had broken out from it cooled, she realized she was alone in the cave. It was dark, now, and chilly. Sometime in the night, Ember must have left their shelter. The quilt was wrapped around her—it fell to her waist as she rose. He’d placed a loaf of bread beneath her head to serve as a pillow.

That revelation kept her from worrying too much: if he’d had time to do those things, it meant he hadn’t left because the witch-women had found them. If she closed her eyes and listened, she could hear the faint sound of him moving about outside. He was humming the
versam.

She took advantage of the empty cave, creeping to the spring in the back to wash her face and hands. She felt better, but after the last couple of days’ exertions, she was sure she could use a good soaking.
I don’t have that luxury.
The best she could do was a scrubbing, but if Ember came in...

Yulla scurried to the cave’s mouth and pulled back the horse blanket. Mother Sun and Sister Moon were low in the sky, telling her it was only an hour or so past dawn. The night’s chill had deepened, and she didn’t think the day would bring much warmth. Off to her left, she caught Ember’s glow. He was on the far side of the cave, blocked from Kaladim’s view by its walls. “Ember?”

The humming stopped. “Don’t come out yet. I have something for you, but it’s not finished.”

Curiosity made her want to peek around to see what it was. No matter how well Abba hid presents, Yulla always found them before her birthday. She’d never been good at surprises. But she knew she must smell of sour sweat and unwashed clothes. Doing something about
that
was a little more important than getting an early peek at whatever he had. “Good. Don’t come
in.”

There wasn’t much she could do for her clothes; the tiny spring was too small to wring them out in. The best she could do was strip down to nothing and air them out while she washed. She’d taken a bottle of olive oil and a bowl of sugar from that last house, and mixed them together now to make a scrub. There wasn’t much of it, so she used it sparingly as she could. Still, she felt worlds better as she scraped away the dust and sweat with the dull edge of a cheese knife.

She wetted a corner of the quilt and wiped off the oil, then finger combed her hair while she dried. Once she’d worked out the worst of the knots, she plaited it, weaving a few sprigs of lavender into the braid. She was relieved to find her clothes more dusty than anything else; she’d still need a change as soon as she could, but they didn’t reek of sweat, or at least, not overwhelmingly so. It was a small victory.

There was a palmful or so of sugar left in the bottom of the bowl. Yulla took it with her, along with the figs, and brought them to the cave’s mouth. “Ember? Is it safe to come out?”

“It is.” The curtain twitched, and he held it aside for her as she stepped out into the desert morning. He looked quite pleased with himself, leading her around to the far side of the cave. Now and again, she caught him sneaking glances at her and had to hide pleased grins of her own.

“I have dried figs,” said Yulla. She broke one in half and dipped the gooey side into the sugar, then held it out to him. “Will you try one?”

He took it from her carefully, ignoring the scowl he earned when he extinguished his arm to do so. It sizzled in his palm, the sugar melting and browning and boiling before it caught fire. The fig shriveled and blackened. “It’s good,” he said.