There were more of those like her. There were more. As the remaining sparks fluttered to the ground in a frenzy, Sienna thought for certain the crowd would react in the same way. She watched for a mob to form like bees and storm into the temple. She braced herself for the inevitable jeers and cries to fill the air—she even thought of the notion that someone may try and kill her for bringing her cursed matches to them.

But no such thing happened.

The people left over from the Washing raised their heads slowly as though a phoryth shooter were pointed at their heads, and as soon as Sienna pictured that, she knew: this was their act of surrender. She read it clearly in the way they looked to Fajhiro for guidance. The way the absence of a part of the crowd hung heavy in the hot air. The resignation behind the veils of the women and the marks of tears that stained those veils.

They feared him.

"Break fast on the turn of the moon cycle." The High Priest Nazirad had climbed the steps of the temple and addressed the remaining people. His dark, kohl-lined eyes rummaged through the crowd like a thief in the night rummaging through treasure—subtle and precise—and once he found the treasure he was looking for, Zimorrah, he smoothly continued. "Azarahn, you have honored both your god of fire and his Esteemed One with your gift. May this new cycle bring blessings upon you."

Though the masses broke out into noise as they gathered their grief and left the foot of the temple, a tense and quiet restraint rippled through. Sienna wanted to scream and cheer and cry out all at once and her mouth opened, but all she felt was her throat closing. She wanted to feel the horror and disgust she'd felt at the sight of the matches. She wanted to feel the rage she'd felt at discovering Fajhiro's hand in her fate. She even desired the biting grief she'd felt at leaving Djianora, her best one.

But all she felt was relief.

The High Priest informed her that it was Fajhiro's wish to break fast with her that morning, but the relief did not sway. She wasn't alone. She wasn't alone.

All this time, all of those years losing herself to the countless identities she'd had to put on, all of those worlds making her trudge up the ladder of society and keep herself secret and cautious—and she wasn't alone.

Climbing up the stairs to meet Fajhiro with a calm she knew should be wrong, he greeted her and led her into the Fire Temple. The immense, firelit space still daunted Sienna, but could anything interfere with the elation of a burden being lifted off her shoulders?

"So you see now," began Fajhiro on their way, "just how little you know. But you are pleased?"

"It's a comfort to know that the burden you have placed on me is shared."

"The Matchlights, yes." He called for a priest to open a set of doors Sienna had not gone in before, and told the priests and guards in the room to leave them. They were alone.

Matchlights. They—she—had a name. A name meant a purpose. "Why did you want to speak with me?"

Fajhiro took his seat on a cushion across the mat on which food lay and gestured for her to do the same. "Eat."

"Why did you want to speak with me?"

"Will you not break fast?" His eyes sparkled with intrigued challenge, daring her to defy him.

Sienna picked up a date and bit into it, not caring if it may be poisoned or not. "Will you now answer my question? I am here for a reason, and it is not simply to eat with you."

"Can't it be?" Fajhiro held a wine cup in his hand ornamented with rings, regarding the goblet's design before gingerly taking a drink. His gaze slunk back to her.

"If that was the only reason, you'd have also eaten something." Placing the date back onto the mat, Sienna felt the relief flee her. "But you want to sit. You want to sip your wine and watch me react to what you have to say. So say it and let me leave."

"I will extend my mercy to you for your boldness, Sienna Diaz, as I have done before. Do not forget that I protected you and gave you status here—despite the way you speak to me."

"I will not forget that you also put me in danger by making me a Matchlight."

The corners of Fajhiro's mouth lifted. "I suppose I did."

"And why did you?"

Taking another draught of his wine, he set the goblet onto the mat and regarded the food in front of him. "You realize, Sienna Diaz, that to be a Matchlight is a gift. To be gifted the power of the matches is something Fire ordained especially for you. To be given chances, worlds, over and over again."

"You are avoiding my question."

"And you are avoiding the reality."

"You're turning my questions on me."

"And you are accusing your ruler." Fajhiro crossed his arms. "Have you treated all your superiors in your fifty worlds poorly?"

Sienna stood. "If you have nothing to say, I'll leave."

"If you have nothing to discover, then go."

"Why make anyone a Matchlight? And why send the rest of them in Azarahn to the next world?"

When his face broke into a grin, Sienna thought he might send her away without a word. But he opened his mouth and spoke, "Sienna Diaz, you are misunderstanding the situation. You are the Matchlight that's important. You have arrived in the fiftieth world. I said I placed you on your path, did I not? Did I say anything about afterwards?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, the figure of Fajhiro hazy from behind her veil—almost as if he were the heat in the air, rippling with mirage. "And can't you allow me to go to the fifty-first world? Or return to my home? Or Djianora?"

My best one?

He remained silent, and indignance rose up inside of Sienna like a scalding geyser.

"Is it impossible for you to do that, Bright Flame?"

"It is not beyond my capabilities. Be careful with your words, Esteemed One."

"Then you choose not to help me despite how easy it may be to do so, is that it? What is the reason? You are playing a game with me that I never asked to play—but I promise you I will win it anyway." Her hands clenched into fists at her side.

"This game is not one against me, Sienna. Fire is your game-keeper. Not your opponent."

"By not helping me, you make yourself the opponent. And now that I know that I'm not alone, you—"

She stopped as a boy's face flashed before her eyes. The boy. He hadn't lit the match.

"I'm not alone," she breathed, eyes wide, and fled the room before Fajhiro could say another word.

Racing out of the temple, Sienna crossed the now-empty plaza and stumbled into the market. Eyes wildly darting around, she felt her heart leap into her throat and pound like Paracii drums, fast and erratic and overwhelming. He had to be in Azarahn. The market closed around her as she walked and searched like a Fleiran hunter. Perusing the tents with a watchful eye, Sienna walked through the market, the boy's face emblazoned into her mind. Dark hair, even darker eyes. That expression, so abashedly shocked. He'd been wearing plain linen and had a head covering that draped around his neck, but most of the other people in the market wore the same thing.

She'd searched the market to no avail and took to the surrounding streets. Surely he would not have gone into a household yet. Surely he had not just gone into the market as soon as she'd exited. He was not soiled—he couldn't be a beggar—and he didn't run away from the crowd during the geihs. Perhaps he had hidden himself or had run out into the desert or maybe he had lit a match after all—

There!

Sienna caught his shoulder and—before he could say a word—covered his mouth, pulling him around the corner and into a tight alleyway. Her hand felt a scream.

Placing a finger to her lips, Sienna raised eyebrows asked if he would keep quiet. The boy nodded in the slightest and slowly, carefully, Sienna uncovered his mouth, gripping his shoulders still.

"You are a Matchlight, aren't you?" she asked.

"No. I don't know what you're talking about. Let me go," he pleaded, voice soft and worn thin. His untamed eyes, dark and fathomless as a horse's, fixed their gaze onto the open street.

Holding him steady as he began to try and wriggle out of her grip, Sienna met his stare and held it. "Hush. Easy, easy—hold it, calm down! Look at me. I'm a Matchlight too, you see?"

The boy started to beg. "I don't know what that means! Release me!"

"I saw you at the geihs. You did not light the match."

"I did—I swear I did! You must be thinking of someone else! Let me go." She held fast as he struggled. "Let me go! Djia, let me go!"

"'Djia'." Sienna sucked in a sharp breath. She was not alone. "You know Djianora."

"No, I—" He cut himself off, knowing he was beat. "What do you want?"

Her voice dropped as she said, "I need your help."

"No you don't. You definitely don't. Whatever it is you have planned, you certainly don't need my help and, in fact, let me just see my way out as not to be a waste of your time and surely—"

"You and I are the only Matchlights left in Azarahn."

His eyes hardened, and he stopped struggling for a moment. "I understand that. And you are the Esteemed One, aren't you? The Sienna Diaz? Don't think I don't know where that name comes from—I've been to Earth. You have spoken with the god of fire. Did he send you to capture me? Finish me off?"

"No. I want to finish this. Being sent to countless worlds. Don't you want to go home?"

"Don't ask that question," he snapped—shrinking back into himself after.

"Then you want the same thing I do. You can help me to help yourself. We can both go home."

The boy rolled his eyes. "I have lived here for almost three years, Sienna Diaz, and I do not plan on lighting another match. Besides, I don't even want to know what you have planned. If I hear a single word, he'll kill me—"

"Not if we can threaten to do it to him first."

"Djia!" He squirmed out of her grasp, but she caught his wrist and pulled him back.

"Listen to me. We can go home if the one who started it all can be convinced into sending us back to where we want."

"You're not thinking straight, Esteemed One. Fajhiro is not some . . . some child you can play with—much less bribe o-or kill—"

"But if he was," Sienna insisted. "If he was, would you do it?"

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Have you killed before?"

Everything fell away like a flood rushing, like blood rushing from a wound, a wound spilling ruby. No, not ruby. It could not be compared to a jewel, nor to a sky or a flower or anything lovely because it was not lovely. It was death and gore, the sign of life shed and taken, and yes—she had taken it. Governors were only people. Blood was only red.

But the thought of red still made her loosen her grip on the boy's shoulders for a moment, and he tried to worm his way out again before she came to her senses.

"Maybe I have killed," she said, "but if Fajhiro can be convinced into sending us home, death will not be necessary."

"That is the difference between you and me. You are desperate to leave. I am not."

"You say that, but you appear weary."

"I never sleep well."

"Have you ever wondered if you don't sleep well because you're not at home?"

His eyes flashed with a sudden anger. "It has been seven years, Esteemed One! I do not have a home."

"Then would you like to have one?"

A/N: At this point, the plot is rolling right along! And we have a new main character. What do you think? My current word count is 12448, and I think I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. There are four more chapters in this novella, readers. Buckle up.