“Do you know how old you are, Elsha?”

“Yes, lord. I am sixteen. I was the only harsha at the mine who knew my birth date, because I was born on the day before the Fire Festival began.”

He rubbed his beard. “That is strange.”

“Not really, lord,” I said. “There was no way for us of knowing the days or the passing of the years, apart from the festival. It was the only important day we knew, the only day to measure by. We do not have calendars or water-clocks such as you Chosen have.”

“Not that,” he murmured, and he sounded amazed. “Strange, that that was the day you were born. It is also the day I was born. It is one of the qualifications of a Firelord – to be born on the eve of the festival. That, and to comprehend firestone power, and dreams.”

I continued to stare at his shoulder and hoped he could not read my heart.

He smiled, muttered something to himself, and set off with his donkey down the mountainside. I followed, my beautiful new boots crunching on the frosty ground. I noticed patches of snow in the hollows between the rocks and on the dim, veiled slopes behind. I could not see the sky at all, for mist.

As we went down into the valley, a cry went up from the houses of the Chosen. People came out, pointed up at us, and a drum began to beat. I heard bells, the laughter of excited children, shouts and echoes of song. People gathered on the small open space between us and the town.

The Firelord turned to me. “Move your hood back off your head, Elsha,” he commanded.

My face went red in spite of the cold, but I obeyed. I had been hoping they would not find out until later that I was Quelled.

“It is better that they know from the start,” he said, and walked on.

What a cheer went up when we arrived! The Chosen rushed to meet him, falling over themselves with joy, laughing and shouting, then remembering to bow, and lifting their heads again, faces shining with welcome and warmth. Then they looked beyond him, and saw me. Some of them didn’t see my brand at first, and began to bow. The others dragged them up, pointing at my brand, and murmuring. Silence fell.

“She is my handmaid,” announced the Firelord. “She will be treated as the others were, with courtesy and respect.”

They bowed then, silently, their smiles frozen on their faces, their eyes carefully off my face. One of the men, our host, went to the Firelord and bowed low before him “I welcome you with all my heart, my lord,” he said fervently. “Long we have awaited your coming. Long we will rejoice in your company. Long we will remember it.” He stood again, smiling broadly, and led the Firelord through the cheering crowds down into the marketplace.

I watched from a distance, leaning on his donkey’s side, forgotten.