"Are you sure you're strong enough for this?" Nola asked, adjusting Minerva's sash yet again with nervous hands that had nothing else to do.

"Yes," Minerva lied.

Kaolin grimaced while she dabbed soft rose color onto Minerva's dead complexion. Only three days in her service and the spy could already see through her better than Nola. She was a dangerous one, and in a way Minerva wasn't used to.

Nola fluttered around her like an agitated butterfly—though one wrong move and her nurse could easily turn into an overprotective lioness with a wayward cub. "We should delay the Trial a couple more days to let you recover," she pleaded. "The court already knows that you were injured in the raid and it wouldn't be amiss."

At the mention of the Terron attack, Minerva raised an eyebrow at Kaolin. The spy shook her head in answer.

She hadn't found anything yet.

"Then all your work in getting me prettied up would be utterly wasted," Minerva answered drily. Neither her protests nor Kaolin's subtle nudges had swayed Nola in her decision to make Minerva "the shining sun of the assembly".

Said decision entailed traditional Pyro dress that fit her like a sheath of cloth, a flamboyant sash with a giant bow at the small of her back, and tiny silver ornaments placed everywhere in her hair that tinkled when she moved.

No wonder this style went out of fashion, Minerva mused. Anyone who wore it would be a sitting duck for assassins.

"Kaolin, another pin for her hair." Nola beckoned with her hand.

Minerva winced at the stab to her head. "We're going to be late."

"Just a moment more," Nola said through the pins held between her lips. Several more minuscule fixes and her nurse allowed her to shuffle toward the door.

"Daggers," Minerva said to Kaolin.

"Not those plain ones!" Nola cried. She fetched the bejeweled set from the table. Oversized emeralds glimmered along the length of the grip.

So impractical.

"They're going in my sleeves, Nola," Minerva said impatiently. "No one's going to see my daggers unless they're buried hilt deep in their chest and I doubt their dying thought will be 'Oh no, she killed me with an undecorated kitchen knife!'"

Kaolin covered a laugh with her sleeve before whisking the daggers Nola offered out of reach.

The old woman sighed and brushed an invisible speck of dust from Minerva's shoulder. Her own white hair spilled messily out of its bun and shadows had taken up residence beneath her golden eyes. Crow's feet creased the corners—Minerva hadn't noticed them before.

"You're all grown up," Nola whispered. Her hand reached out to as if to smooth Minerva's hair before she drew it back.

"I grew up a long time ago." But Minerva reached out with her finger to tap the kirukkan forehead pendant that glowed between Nola's brows—an old childish habit.

Her nurse's face scrunched up.

"Don't cry, Nola," Minerva warned.

"I'm not!" Nola snapped. "The stark whiteness of your skin blinded me, in spite of the rouge Kaolin applied."

Kaolin rejoined them. "Less is more, and at least her skin is clear. Others cannot claim the same."

Nola's mouth contorted as if a hundred words battled to be voiced. "Be careful," she finally said. "Don't trust the politics of nobles. Remember the lines you're to say and don't muss your dress."

Minerva could make no promises about the lines, but she owed Nola something. "I'll take care of the dress" —she smirked evilly— "until I burn it to ash, that is."

She'd never handled crowds well. Minerva would never forget her first adventure into the city, when Aunt Edina had clothed the both of them in peasant's garb and carried her pick-aback through the filth of the streets. She'd loved the sound of her aunt's geta tapping the stones—when the little stilts weren't squishing in mush that was.

"The people look sad," Minerva had whimpered. From beneath the wide brim of Edina's hat, she'd watched the beggars feebly holding out their hands to passersby. Those walking appeared to have no more coin than they.

"They are sad, little blossom," Edina answered softly. "But you're going to change all that someday."

Minerva tangled her fingers deeper into her aunt's black hair, letting the warmth of the absorbed sun warm her cold hands. "How?"

Before Edina could answer, an old woman stopped and peered at Minerva's face. Vegetables nestled in her arms, most of the leaves withered. She exploded with a tirade in the common dialect, while Minerva trembled and tried to keep up.

Words like "Hydro", "poop", and "white" assaulted Minerva's ears. People gathered around them. Her head spun, hardly hearing her aunt's gentle answers. Edina pressed some coins into the woman's hand, but the hag threw them down and stomped the gold into the mud.

It dawned on Minerva then—the people hated her. Fingers pointing in her direction filled her vision. She buried her head in Edina's back so she wouldn't have to see them. Something struck her shoulder. Somehow, that signaled for more chunks of things to pelt her from every direction.

Next thing she knew, shouts erupted and the blaze of fire brushed her cheeks. Then the wind pulled her hair, for Edina was running. Running far from the awful people.

When her aunt leaned down and dropped her off her back, Minerva realized she was crying. She raised her sleeve to wipe the tears, until she noticed the mud. And—and the more than mud.

Edina pushed herself upright from her hands on her knees, still drawing deep breaths in. Noticing Minerva's predicament, she drew a clean hand cloth from her sleeve and squatted down to wipe Minerva's face.

"Your face is dirty too," Minerva mumbled.

Aunt Edina smiled and Minerva thought she still looked beautiful in spite of the brown smearing her forehead and her windblown hair. "I'll be alright."

Minerva sniffled. Crying was for babies. "Your hat's gone."

"Easily replaced," Edina said, her sunshine not at all dampened.

Minerva couldn't take it. Not when the sun hated her. That's why the people hated her. Even with the giant leap of mind she'd taken, she knew it to be true. And with that knowledge, she wondered why she'd been so stupid as to not know before.

She started wailing at the sky.

It took only a couple minutes and a white bun for Edina to calm her down. Nola never let her have white buns because they had a rich, fluffy cream that melted in her mouth instead of bean paste. She'd only thought they had bean at first because they looked exactly the same on the outside.

Dessert pastries made for good distractions, but as soon as she'd licked the last of the cream off her fingertips, Minerva asked, "What was the woman shouting?"

Edina's eyes turned solemn and the smile slid away. "She said you were part Hydro, Min. But she doesn't know any better. There's only pure Pyro blood running in those veins of yours."

Minerva frowned skeptically. "She said bad words. The ones you told me not to say." Then, she hesitated as another thought occurred to her. "They think I'm ugly, don't they?"

Her aunt pulled her into a tight hug and picked her up. "Auntie Dina thinks you're beautiful, little blossom. And that's all that matters."

But that hadn't been the question—the same as when Minerva asked if her parents loved her and Edina could only say that she did. If only she hadn't figured that out, maybe she would have been happier then. Briefly, but happiness was always brief.

Because now, the only person who had loved her, who had called her beautiful—

Was gone.

The reason she hated crowds wasn't because of the physical threat they posed, even back then when she'd been a mere child under her aunt's protection. Minerva knew now that she could clear several squadrons' worth of civilians without breaking a sweat if the situation demanded it—granted, only when the hollow place functioned.

No, the reason she hated crowds was because of their expectations.

People would metaphorically light you on fire and hold their hands to the flame simply to keep them warm. They didn't care if their expectations burned you up from the inside out. Yet, knowing all this, Minerva hadn't discovered a way to escape them.

Her mother demanded for her not to be a coward, but if Minerva fulfilled that wish, there was nothing stopping Kovine from turning her into the enemy. The Pyro people screamed that they loathed her pale skin, that they desired perfection and power in an Empress. With the same breath, they slandered Kovine as the strongest, but cruelest fire wielder alive. Her classmates laughed at her weakness and purposeful blunders, yet if she showed a spark of talent they'd turn on her like a pack of rabid manticores.

The easiest solution would be not to care.

She'd tried. Tried to be cold and unfeeling. With Kozakura she'd partially succeeded. But deep down, Minerva still cared far too much. She craved that slight approving nod of Nola's head, the pat on her shoulder Matsudo gave when he was proud of her.

All the while she was burning with an unceasing flame. One day, her pyre would flicker out and she'd be left—an empty husk with nothing remaining to give—while the crowds moved on to find another fire.

Head bowed and bound by these thoughts, Minerva walked down the center of the ceremonial hall's length. At the other end, the door to her Trial awaited. So many people watched her, but she tried to ignore them. When she dared look up, their eyes burned holes in her skin—a thousand golden embers reflecting the lamplight to the crystal chandeliers and back again in an ever-whirling cyclone.

Her ancestors stared her down as well, over half a dozen—including Korlana the Dragon Empress, with violet flames licking at her raven hair and Jalana the Conqueror, garbed in full-body kirukkan armor that glowed brimstone like the lava-filled veins of a volcano—all imposing in their greater than life portrait glory.

Minerva crept along, never seeming to near the golden dais at the other end of the hall. On either side of the massive archway and double-sided doors, an elder dragon towered over the assembly. Light reflected from them—a sun-like brilliance from the gold dragon and a gentle moon-like glow from the white one. Both of their eyes were shut, and only their elegant floating whiskers betrayed they weren't statues.

Pyro nobles whispered amongst themselves, their long, embroidered sleeves or ornamented fans covering their mouths. She would almost have preferred the shouts of the peasants. At least then she knew the rumors, rather than being left to her own devices in guessing at them.

Her mind did far too good a job in fanning the flames of her funeral pyre.

You'll never be good enough.

These people care nothing for you.

What would they do if they knew who you really are?

Clothing rustled as each row of those attending rose from their seats when she approached. Heavy incense permeated the air. Minerva raised her eyes, desperate to break the detrimental cycle of her thoughts.

Amongst the rows of faces, blue eyes met hers.

Her mind cleared and she could only think of how poorly off the Pyros had left themselves in spurning such a beautiful shade.

Kodak smiled from where he stood with the Hydro embassy. Their height and attire caused them to stand out, but the comparison favored them and their calm air of nobility. The Hydro prince tapped two of his fingers to his forehead before swiveling his hand around to rest over his chest in some form of salute.

Then—audacity of audacities—right when Minerva was considering whether the smile had deepened to a smirk, he winked at her.

Again.

Flaming Hydro.

She looked away and tilted her chin up. Her strides lengthened as much as the confining prison of her dress would allow, but not enough that she missed the unrestrained silver timbre of his laugh behind her.

Her slipper tapped against the first level of the dais. She knelt at the step, hands sweating in her sleeves.

A dragon's voice thundered like a double shock wave through both body and mind. "Who comes in the name of the One, to be cleansed heart, soul, and mind in the fire?"

At the same moment, a soft nudge pressed on Minerva's consciousness. She welcomed the second dragon's mind into hers, their half-formed thoughts exchanging as rapidly as lightning.

The dragon who'd spoken to her in animamea answered the first dragon.

"Minerva Korlana Pyroline, daughter of fire, heir to the Empire, has come to be purified!" he roared.