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It was just before high noon—the goddess’s sacred time—at the winter solstice, when Her connection to Her people was at its most precarious. Dangerous, to hold the rite of renewal now. But after so many years of abeyance, no one wanted to wait until spring. And they said that the goddess rewarded those who took risks in Her name.
Rachel remembered watching her mother do this. She’d been a child, and she hadn’t had any real idea what was going on. All she had known was that her mother was radiantly beautiful, and that every man and woman in the courtyard was focused on her. At the time, that had seemed only appropriate. Lady Jean, beloved of the War Prince and the Civic Princess both, the most powerful avatar of the Phoenix in centuries.
Such good that had done them all.
No. Don’t think of that. Here and now, that’s all there is—
She had walked here from the temple, starting at dawn and wandering through many of the streets of the city. (It was nothing like it had been; it was exactly the same. She thought that she was catching past avatars’ memories, sometimes, and that frightened her for all Ororo claimed it was a good sign.)
Now she came to the grand gate of the palace; smiled as bravely as she could when Piotr, standing guard alongside a grim-faced stranger, wished her luck. Further, further, half running, until she came to the central courtyard.
She entered from the east, as the sun must; to the north were the Kings, to the west the waiting crowd, to the south the sacred hearth, cold these many years. (She had last seen it blazing.) A woman stood there; it took her a terrible moment to recognize her, for all she’d known her in childhood, for all they’d been reintroduced last month.
So Lady Moira had been selected as the Speaker for the Council, this time. Kurt said they usually chose a senior member, and not one who had just returned after a lapse of years; Kitty said that they almost always chose a son or daughter of the Gift. Rachel wondered what it meant that they’d broken both their patterns today.
She had no idea. That struck her as a poor omen, considering she’d have to work with these people for the rest of her life.
(Unless she gave up the Phoenix. Which she wasn’t going to do. She might not be the avatar her mother had been, but she was the avatar, and she would not abandon her birthright or her responsibilities.)
“The people of the city welcome their goddess,” Moira said, with a warm smile. She bowed, and held out her arms. Impulsively, Rachel embraced her.
“The Phoenix always returns to Her children,” she answered. She meant her voice to carry as her mother’s once had, but it was hardly more than a whisper.
Moira returned the embrace, let go, and backed away. She had done most of her part of the ritual before Rachel’s arrival, and with the greeting, it was done.
Rachel turned to the assembled people—mostly members of the court, but not all. She found Kitty and Kurt in the crowd and met their eyes; that helped. She bowed her head; it was the greatest degree of respect the Avatar was permitted.
Then she turned and walked towards the Kings.
Her mother had borne the crowd’s attention with grace; Rachel felt it like a weight on her back, as if she were trying to carry an anvil. It was hard not to stagger.
The two Kings sat side by side, flanked by their declared heirs. Ororo stood by King Charles, arms crossed; she looked bold and combative, nothing like the serene Civic Princess of Rachel’s childhood memories. Rachel didn’t recognize the man who stood next to King Magnus, his skin a red too dull to be mistaken for blood, angry scars on his forehead. King Magnus hasn’t chosen an heir since your father died, she remembered Kitty saying. But the rumor is that he’s planning on elevating his Captain of the Guard. Perhaps that was more than a rumor.
She fought the urge to fall on her knees. She wasn’t in Selene’s city now; she was in the Phoenix’s city, her city. A priestess did not kneel, the Avatar did not bow, and she was equal to the Kings. (That felt like a lie, even though it was the ancient law, something she’d known before Selene’s raiders captured her.) She inclined her head, stiffly (her mother had always been graceful), and extended her hands.
It was peacetime, so Charles took her right hand, and Magnus her left. She wondered if the order would change, come next year.
“O Phoenix, eternal of joy, we thank you for your gift of life,” Rachel said, louder this time, and her voice sounded harsh even to her own ears.
King Charles answered, voice deceptively mild, “O Phoenix, lady of light, we thank you for your gift of understanding.”
King Magnus spoke then, and his voice rang through the courtyard, bold and implacable. “O Phoenix, goddess of all power, we thank you for your gift of strength.” The slight shiver of metal throughout the court—perhaps throughout the city—left no doubt what kind of strength he meant.
As one, they released her. Rachel stepped forward, between them, and turned to face the hearth, completing the triumvirate for the first time since— since—
“O my mother,” Rachel spoke the last words, addressing the goddess as only she might, and her voice caught. She wondered if she was the only one who still heard them in Jean’s voice, and if she were the only avatar who had ever felt as if the very words of the ritual were a betrayal. “O daughter of the sun, we thank you for your gift of fire.”
For a terrible split second, her words hovered in the air, and Rachel thought she tasted ash.
Then, all at once, the flame of the Court—the fire that was never supposed to die, that had been dead since Jean’s sacrifice—jumped to life, twin to the ever-burning flame of the Temple. Distantly, Rachel felt fires starting throughout the city—hearth, candle, torch—and hoped that she hadn’t caused a disaster.
The Phoenix had returned to Her City.