There was a time when Endarius himself would have flown over the city to mark the start of their annual fast with his mighty roar. Despite the fading winter light, his feathered mane would sparkle with a rainbow of color. Come nightfall, it would be Lycaena’s turn to take flight, soaring higher and higher into the sky so the moon would highlight her multicolored wings, which fluttered like an impossibly long dress. His goddess would raise her arms to the heavens and clap thrice. On the third clap, fire would descend over the city, sparkling every color and transforming into a thousand different shapes. The fire would fall like leaves and cats, dancing children and singing birds. Upon landing, the fire would not burn but instead sparkle, loud but harmless.

That fire ended the fast and began the Midwinter Feast. The year was over, and the world reborn. Rayan was too exhausted and drained for tears, but his chest ached remembering those laughter-filled feasts. Songs would fill dining halls. Endarius would prowl the streets, and if a house seemed especially boisterous and cheerful, he would mark its door with a scratch of his claws, marks that any homeowner would bear proudly for years to come. When Lycaena’s decorative fire was fully spent, the goddess sang instead, and she traversed all of Thanet so everyone might hear a whisper of her lovely, wordless chant.

The emerald-eyed boy’s body swung in the cold breeze. He would hear no songs. He would dance amid no heatless flame.

“I murdered you,” Rayan whispered. He pulled out the ten winter jasmines from his pocket. “Forgive me, child. Forgive me.”

He scattered the bright yellow flowers at the foot of the corpse and then fled for the solitude of home.

Keles sat on his doorstep when he returned, and she dashed to her feet to embrace him the moment she saw him.

“You’re safe!” she said as her arms closed about his chest. Rayan pulled her close and accepted the warm hug.

“Should I not be?” he asked.

“They’ve rebuilt the Dead Flags,” his niece explained. “The Imperator has been leading raids all day, coming down hard on any Midwinter festivals or gatherings. I even heard of Lycaena followers being executed on the street, and I feared… well, it’s obvious what I feared.”

“Come now, as if I would ever be captured by the empire,” Rayan said, and he forced a smile. Keles pulled away, and she seemed far from convinced by his poor joke.

“You’ve been crying,” she said. Rayan cursed the redness of his eyes. He thought he’d wiped them dry on his walk home.

“I might have been.”

“Come inside. I’ll boil us some tea.”