A Consuming Fire, page 27
Anya shut her eyes for a moment, wishing the crowds would be gone when she’d opened them. But the waiting masses remained resolutely there, along with the increasingly burdensome weight of what she’d taken from the god of the mountain, now wrapped in her indispensable oilskin coat.
Fanning the embers of her courage to life once more, Anya stepped forward.
The crowd parted before her like water, leaving a broad clear path for Anya to travel. At the center of the square stood an empty and unattended wagon, and Anya scrambled onto its bed. She got to her feet and pulled the oilskin from the god of the mountain’s severed head, then let it fall onto the wooden planking, which it hit with a low, thunderous sound, as if it still held the power to shake the earth.
But there was nothing of life in it, and no fire gleamed from those filmy, dead eyes, which had once beheld so much of sacrifice and done so much wickedness.
Anya cleared her throat and clasped her hands before her, so that the gathered watchers would not see how they shook.
“This is your god,” she said, and it seemed a miracle that her voice rang out clear and true. “My name is Anya Astraea and I crossed Albion for a sacrifice. My mother, Willem, and my sister, Ilva, both went before me. My mother gave her hands to the god of the mountain. My sister’s life was stolen by him. So I set out on my sister’s behalf, to make right what others have called her failure. But I never intended to serve as an offering myself—my intent was always to exact one, on behalf of every girl the god has marred or broken. So here he is, what’s left of him, and here I am. Maybe it was blasphemy, what I’ve done. But my Arbiter spoke of how someday, justice would run down the mountain like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream. I think what I undertook was right and just, and if it was wrong you can lock me away but you can’t undo it. I’m glad of that. Right or wrong, I’m glad no other girl will ever have to make that climb and give up some of who she is to buy peace for us all.”
Anya caught her breath and for a moment, the square was utterly silent. Orielle had appeared at the head of the crowd, her expression unreadable, and Jonus Astraea watched Anya from astride his tall black horse, with something calculating behind his eyes.
“Anyway, that’s everything,” Anya said, with a trace of Tieran’s stubborn sullenness. “I’ve done what I came to do. Whatever happens next is up to everyone else.”
Turning, she scrambled back down from the wagon box. Every soul in the square stayed rooted to the spot, their eyes fixed on the remains of the god of the mountain that Anya had left behind.
“Was that all right?” Anya whispered to Tieran as she reached him at the edge of the square.
“Yeah,” he said anxiously. “It was perfect. You were perfect. But we got to get going, I think we only got a moment before—”
He grabbed Anya’s hand and broke into a half run, away from the square and its crowd as ripples of raised voices began to spread. Like wildfire, pandemonium broke loose, but Tieran was quick and clever, and had them away before it had truly caught. Flurries of running feet and shouts echoed here and there, but the thief dodged through the streets with Anya in tow, until they reached a shadowed alley and an even dimmer recessed doorway.
“Got to get you out of this city and off the high roads,” Tieran said, half to himself, as they stood huddled together. “Lucky for us I know some people what take care of that sort of thing.”
“Tieran?” Anya said.
“Hm?” He glanced nervously past her, at the head of the alley. But there was no one there besides a shadow that resolved itself into Midge, brought to them by her incomprehensible internal compass and transparently happy as she pressed herself against Anya’s legs.
“Tieran?” Anya said again.
“Yeah?” This time it was the boarded-up doorways the thief scanned, as if a contingent of guards or flock of grayrobes might come pouring out of a hitherto abandoned building.
“Tieran,” Anya insisted.
His sly hazel eyes met hers at last, and both of them stilled.
“If I go back to my Weatherell, and to the others, would you come with me?” Anya asked. “I don’t expect you to stay, not always. But I need to see my mother and tell everyone what’s happened—they won’t let all the other girls brought up for sacrifice know otherwise, I don’t think. I want to be with you, though, whenever and wherever I can. And maybe later, to be with your wanderers.”
Tieran nodded. “Where you go, I go. That’s it for me from now on. Never gonna want to stay long in a place if you’re not there. Can’t promise I won’t disappear for a day or two now and then, but I’ll come back. I’ll always come back to you.”
“I love you,” Anya said earnestly. “All of you.”
The thief grinned. “And I think you’re all right, Weatherell girl.”
With Midge lying watchfully at their feet, Anya stood on her toes and kissed Tieran until his smug look and underlying wariness had gone and he was aware of nothing but her. For her part, Anya sank into the warmth and light being near him woke at her center. Only for a moment did her attention waver, as a pale glow flickered to life across the alley.
Ilva stood there, and her ghost was no longer a gaunt and decaying thing. She looked as she had the day she set out from Weatherell—eager, and full of expectation. As her eyes caught Anya’s, she smiled, raising a hand in farewell.
Be brave, little moon, the air itself seemed to whisper. Hold on to your courage without me.
Then Ilva faded, and for the last time, vanished.
The sorrow that rose in Anya as she went was no longer enough to overwhelm. It came with a bittersweet pang and softened into the comfort of memory, and left Anya hungrier than ever for the business at hand.
For life.
For joy.
For an ending that might, perhaps, not always be happy, but that she knew unshakeably was just, and right, and good.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every new book I write is the product of a holy trinity of creative input: it starts with me, but there are two other integral parties. For A Consuming Fire, the first is Nicole Fiorica, my deeply talented and sympathetic editor. She takes the rough, vaguely book-shaped things I come up with and makes them shine. She’s a staunch advocate and a wonderful publishing-world partner. I’m so grateful to have her in my corner and hope we’ll be making novels together for years to come.
The second indispensable participant in the creation of my books is Lauren Spieller, literary agent extraordinaire. Lauren reads everything first, she helps me hone my ideas, and she turns them from something nebulous and plotless into actual cohesive stories. She is so, so much more than someone who just handles the business end of things. But she knows all that, so I’ll just say, Lauren, you’re the best. Let’s keep doing this forever.
They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but I happen to be a person who often does. I’ve been privileged to have my worlds and characters brought to life by incredibly talented cover artist Kim Ekdahl for two consecutive books now, and I am so appreciative of her creative genius and thoughtful compositions.
When my stories are in their infancy, there are two people I entrust them to before anyone else: my mom and Steph Messa. They’re the people I consider my alpha readers—beloved cheerleaders who provide enthusiasm when the books I write are still kind of a hot mess.
And speaking of hot messes, I myself am one on a regular basis. Any functionality I possess is brought to you by my emotional support writing group, affectionately known as The Pod: Steph Messa, Anna Bright, Hannah Whitten, Jen Fulmer, and Joanna Meyer. I would bury a body for any one of them, no questions asked, and know they’d do the same for me.
Writing books takes a lot of time. It means a lot of sitting in a room with the door shut, being completely unavailable because frequent disturbances and creative flow are mortal enemies. Thank you so much to my person, Tyler, and my darling changeling children for being understanding when I shout “NO INTERRUPTIONS” with a wild gleam in my eyes and hole up at the far end of the house for entire afternoons.
Lastly, and most importantly, thank you to my readers. To those who’ve just joined me, and those who’ve been here for a book or two, and those who’ve traveled with me through all four stories—you are the reason I do what I do.
More from the Author
A Rush of Wings
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAURA E. WEYMOUTH is the author of several novels, including the critically acclaimed The Light Between Worlds, A Treason of Thorns, and A Rush of Wings. Born and raised in the Niagara region of Ontario, Laura now lives at the edge of the woods in western New York with her husband, two wild-hearted daughters, and a menagerie of animal friends. Learn more at LauraEWeymouth.com.
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Margaret K. McElderry
Simon & Schuster, New York
ALSO BY LAURA E. WEYMOUTH
The Light Between Worlds
A Treason of Thorns
A Rush of Wings
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MARGARET K. McELDERRY BOOKS • An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division • 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020 • www.SimonandSchuster.com • This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. • Text © 2022 by Laura E. Weymouth • Jacket illustration © 2022 by Kim Ekdahl • Jacket design © 2022 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. • All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. • MARGARET K. McELDERRY BOOKS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc. • For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com. • The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com. • Interior design © 2022 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. • Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data • Names: Weymouth, Laura E., author. • Title: A consuming fire / Laura E. Weymouth. • Description: First edition. | New York : Margaret K. McElderry Books, [2022] | Audience: Ages 14 up. | Audience: Grades 10-12. | Summary: Born to be a sacrificial Weatherell girl like her mother, Anya Astraea instead sets out in search of vengeance against the mountain deity who claimed the life of her twin sister. • Identifiers: LCCN 2021058871 (print) | LCCN 2021058872 (ebook) | ISBN 9781665902700 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781665902717 (paperback) | ISBN 9781665902724 (ebook) • Subjects: CYAC: Sacrifice—Fiction. | Revenge—Fiction. | Gods—Fiction. | Sisters—Fiction. | Twins—Fiction. | LCGFT: Novels. • Classification: LCC PZ7.1.W43757 Co 2022 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.W43757 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23 • LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021058871 • LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021058872
Laura E. Weymouth, A Consuming Fire
