“Yes.” A sort of reminiscing sorrow stole his expression. “We both heard music.”
I nodded. “And outside the cave, when you played the flute for the sylph? Did you notice anything about that?”
He seemed to search inside himself. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What you described before, about the music in your dream—that’s what I heard that night. It seemed like you were conducting an entire symphony, like magic.”
“You did? I—It felt special to me, but not like my dream. Not like that.”
“I’ve heard it before, too. When you played ‘Ana Incarnate’ for the first time. I heard lightning and waves and wind. I heard . . . this force. This power that you play with.”
His eyes met mine, dark and full of wonder. “Do you think that’s it? The phoenix song?”
“Maybe.” I smiled. “I think it could be.”
“But we still don’t know what it is, or how to do it on purpose. What use is it?”
It seemed to me he could call the music whenever he wanted, but I didn’t want to pressure him. “We know it terrifies dragons. They think it can destroy them. It must be powerful. It feels powerful to me when I hear it.”
He said nothing.
“To me, it sounded like life. The way the whole world seemed to join in, it made me feel alive.”
“But dragons think it will destroy them.”
“Maybe it depends who’s using it, and why. The book said it was the song of life and death. Beginnings and endings. They’re all tied up together. It’s the phoenix song. Expecting it to be as straightforward as a knife is a little unrealistic.” I shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me about the dream before?”
“At first,” he said, “I thought it was only a dream, and I didn’t want to burden you with it. What we’re doing tomorrow night is so much bigger than a half-remembered symphony.”
“It’s still important to me, if it’s important to you.”
He leaned his cheek on the crown of my head, his whisper a confession. “Even if we survive the ascension, what about the caldera? How can anyone survive Range erupting? How can anyone survive the ash cloud? It seems like no matter what we do, this is the end.”
“If we stop Janan from ascending, the earth might settle, too. No eruption.” No more earthquakes. Even now, I could feel a shudder in the ground, a constant reminder of the world’s ability to open up.
“Then we could have this.” He caught my hand in his, pressing it against his cheek. “A life together. And maybe it’s only one, but we can fit a lot into one life.”
“We’ve already done a lot. Flown on the backs of dragons. Discovered millennia-old secrets. Watched newsouls come into the world.”
“Found each other at the masquerade.” He kissed my fingertips.
“You knew who I was as soon as I arrived.” I rolled my eyes. “But I knew you.” When he’d shown me old photos, I’d known him in them, too.
“Maybe I knew you.”
“Because I was wearing giant butterfly wings.”
“That was a big clue, I’ll admit.”
“And I was probably the only person who didn’t tell everyone else what they were going as.”
He flashed a half smile. “Don’t you want me to have known you immediately?”
“Oh, I do.” I brushed my thumb over his cheekbone. “But I want it to be real. Not because you’re a reasonably intelligent person who can recognize a short redhead when she’s hiding her face. Besides, I know you don’t believe in the matching souls stuff.”
“You make me want to believe.” He grew quiet.
Even if we lived through tomorrow night, I’d always look like me, even if I put on another costume. Besides, people didn’t dedicate their souls to each other after only one life. A dedication of souls was supposed to be forever.
“I’ve decided,” I whispered into the dimness. The sonata’s final notes faded and another piece began, all warm lute strings and a clarinet.
“What’s that?” His voice was heat, and his breath traced over the curves of my cheek. I never wanted to move.
“Everyone is terrified of the unknown. What happens after? Where do you go? What do you do?”
He gave a slight nod.
“I’ve decided what I think happens. Everyone is so busy being afraid, no one considers that what happens next might be good, too. Different. But not bad. Not something to be afraid of.”
Sam kissed my cheek. “That sounds very wise.”
“I don’t want to be afraid of something that’s inevitable. I don’t want to go rushing toward it, because there are so many things I want to experience in life, but being terrified of something natural like that seems like a waste of energy.”
“The pain that often accompanies death isn’t very pleasant.” He kept his voice low, thoughtful. “And pain often is a good reason to fear something. Fear is natural, too. It’s what keeps us alive, sometimes.”
I nodded. “I don’t mean about not being afraid of everything that goes along with death. I’m still for avoiding it. I want to live. But as a whole thing. What happens next. What really happens next—rather than reincarnation bought with another’s soul—doesn’t have to be scary. I choose to believe it’s another good thing. Like life. Another beginning. Only different.”
“You have a beautiful way of thinking,” he murmured, voice as sweet as the duet playing on the SED. He caressed my face, my throat, my shoulders, my arms. Everything melted under his touch, and the soft way he kissed me.
When I climbed onto his lap, our chests pressed together, his kisses grew deeper and more passionate. His palms were hard against my spine, pulling me closer as he kissed my neck and shoulders and collarbone. He tugged my shirt askew and caressed the bare skin of my shoulder.
“I love you.” His words pooled in the hollow of my throat. “I want to tell you a thousand times how much I love you.”
I ran my fingers through his hair and turned his face up, leaned his head back, and kissed him. Soft black strands fell between my fingers, and his hands were up my shirt, palms flat on my back. My ribs. My waist.
My skin burned with our heat. I was melting into him.
Footsteps thundered through the mill, and light spilled across the storage room.
“Ana! Sam!” Sarit’s voice was high and wild. Then she squeaked. “Oh. Oh no, I’m so sorry. I forgot. I can go away.”
I scrambled off of Sam’s lap, smoothing my clothes as my face ached with a blush. Sam pulled his knees to his chest and shifted uncomfortably.
“Oh, you guys.” Sarit covered her face. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I—Yeah. I’m going away.”
“It’s fine,” Sam said, his tone clear that this was not fine. His clothes were crooked and his skin flushed. “Just tell us what’s going on.”
Sarit bit her lip, glancing between us.
“There are so many things I could say right now.” Stef appeared behind Sarit, wearing an expression of awkward amusement. “I hope you both understand what a great effort it is for me to withhold comments.”
“And we appreciate it.” Sam’s voice was tight.
My heart thudded—not in the fun way—and every bit of me burned with embarrassment. So much for having the whole night alone. “Maybe you should just tell us whatever you burst in here to say.”
Sarit and Stef sobered as they exchanged glances. “We found out what’s in the cage,” Sarit said.
Sam looked up. I didn’t move.
“It’s a phoenix.”
27 FLAMES
THE SPRING EQUINOX dawned cloudless and bright, with the whole world holding its breath. Even the constant rumble of earthquakes paused, leaving everything strangely silent and muted for the hours Sam and I moved throughout the mill, discussing our plans again, touching the supplies we’d carry tonight.