In The Wake of Fire

They expected her to burn.

Princess Vaelira stood barefoot in the cirlce of Flame, surrounded by chanting priests, watchful nobles and the ghost of every rulers who had come before her. Above her, the dragon statues loomed from the cliffs of Aurecliff, mouths agape in eternal roar, as if even the stone judge her.

Her mother had shifted on her sixteenth birthday, her grandfather had burst into flame mid battle and taken to the skies by storm. But Vaelira - eighteen and already a year past the Rite - still stood human, with nothing more than smoke curling around her ankles.

the fire curled higher, dancing up her legs, kissing her skin, it should have hurt. it never had. she had never known pain from heat or flame.

‘let it rise. let the beast wake.’

she closed her eyes.

‘come on. come out. be who they need’

but nothing came. no wings. no roar. no dragon.she felt only the flicker of heat - and the chill of failure.

again.

Vaelira’s breath caught in her throat. She opened her eyes to the sea of silence - watching, judging, already retreating.the crowd of nobles, lord and commanders watched from the gallery. some wore blank expressions. others turned away. she saw her mothers face - queen Maelire- tight and unreadable. besides of her, the kings throne sat empty, its dragon- claw armrest wrapped in gold filigree. her fathers death had left it cold.

and across the circle, watching her like a hawk with polished claws, stood Lord Vareth. He didnt smile. not quite. but the shift in his eyes was satifaction. He had been waiting for this.

“the flame has spoken” came the cold voice of High Flame keeper Drosin. his voice echoing through the stone chamber.

“the princess has not awakened”

Vaelira took a slow breath and stepped back from the flames. the priests withdrew. the fire dimmed.

the Rite was over and the future of the realm burned darker.

Later, alone in her chambers, vaelira stripped off the ceremonial robe and threw them to the ground. The golden cloth pooled like liquid around her boots.

she stared at her reflection in the black glass wall length mirror, tall, straight backed, hair like spilled ink, eyes the molten grey of ash stone. she looked like a queen. but her people didn’t need a woman who looked like one. they needed a dragon.

she pressed her palm to the wall. it stayed cool. “you were suppose to come” she whispered. “i gave you everything, why wont you rise?”

no answer. just the flicker of torchlight behind her. Then-

a whisper

faint, distant, like the echo of a dream.

a boys voice, whispered across memory and magic.

“your not meant to be like them”

she spun.

no one was there.