Equinox (Book One of the Firebird Chronicles) WATTY AWARD HIDDEN GEM WINNER 2015

Chapter Thirty Seven: A Gravestone of Flowers

A/N: Art by Rebecca Guay...do you like it? Reminds me of Lumina!

By the time I awoke, the Equinox Ball was three days' away, and preparations had left me out. I felt my consciousness trying to rouse several times, hearing the noise of the rain or the smell of a salve, but my body's fatigue pushed me back into slumber each time. Heavy eyes and a heavy heart, I slept, unaware that around me plans were being put into place, even without their princess to take part.

With my mind awake, my head was filled with images, images I had never experienced but seemed too vivid to have conjured up. Reia, covered in grime. Reia, crying out my name as swollen and bruised as she was. Reia, tortured. Each time she screamed for me to come and save her, fresh tears rolled down my face, wiped away by unseen hands.

When will you save me, Lumina?

What are you doing?

They're going to kill me.

Over and over, I saw her gaoler tormenting her, torturing her. I tossed fretfully.

The first thing I heard was chatter, chatter like a background hum that buzzed around my ears. The dull ache of my senses that had continually put me back to sleep was gone, and I sat upright, refreshed. As I did so, the blankets covering my body fell downwards, and I blinked around in bright light. I was back in the caravan, and light was filtering through the window.

The prison, I thought immediately. Clae. How is Clae? Did they find Arianna?

Fabian...

...how is he?

I rubbed my head. Had I dreamed that he'd told me he loved me? It was possible. Possible, but not my concern right now. I couldn't attend to matters so frivolous when I'd cost so many lives already. And if Reia truly was being tortured, and if these dreams I had were real...then I had to get to her, fast.

I stood up, my legs feeling stiff but energized. Someone had changed me into a nightgown. Disguises as entertainers were back on, it seemed, and I quickly changed into a long skirt and blouse, before running a brush through my hair. In my sleep, it had grown again, weaving down towards my knees now like a spider's web, expanding. I rolled it up with some bands, noticing that I smelt like perfume. Someone had washed and dressed me in my sleep.

When I left the caravan, a terrible sight met my eyes.

We were no longer at the gypsy camp-- we were overlooking it from the mountainous hillside of the Ruby district, in the midst of heather and shrubbery. At least, we were overlooking what was left of it. The spot that had once been filled with hundreds of angels and music was now a charred site of ash and destruction. From what I could make out, the debris was what remained of the numerous displays; colourful billboards, now burned around the edges and blackened, the roofs of fortune tents torn and spewed across the dust. The remnants of smoke still billowed from the ruins.

And among the rubble, the unrecognizable form of bodies; tall, small, old, young.

My breath caught in my throat. Had attacking the prison resulted in this? No. How could it have happened so soon?

The path of burning had thankfully not extended towards the shanty towns, but they had not been completely unharmed. Evidence of fighting was clear around the edges of the towns; bodies, red uniformed guards and those without, were littered around the hillside, and there appeared to be patrols of angels within the shanty towns trying to keep out any guards.

My body shook. The shanty town was filled with prison refugees, wasn't it? Were they all okay? Did they make it?

Again, in the back of my mind, a voice that I knew was my own was telling me: why else would this happen now? This isn't a random act. This fire was meant to destroy.