CEL

Cel’s first Nightburner meeting comes just three days after her eleventh birthday. In her bedroom beforehand, she’s already dressed in a pair of dark pants, a long-sleeved dark shirt, and soft-soled boots. They’re especially cozy-feeling after she’s worn her combat boots at school all day. She sits in a chair in front of her stand-up mirror, frowning at her own face while Nora braids her steel-gray hair while humming a jaunty little tune. As it often is at home, her shadow arm is out for the occasion.

It’s strange for Cel to look in a mirror and see her true self for a change. Shadow-darkened eyes and hair don’t bother her terribly much, but she can’t help but recall the softness on Daddy’s face when gets to see her natural coloring. Cel knows he must miss having the features that mark him as firecored, so when Cel can manage it, she wears them proudly, but she’s so used to seeing black staring back at her from the mirror that the glowing red of her irises is a little strange.

“You must be excited,” Nora says, patting Cel’s shoulder to let her know she’s done.

Cel nods, not sure how to articulate her thoughts on the matter. She gets up with a thin smile. “Ready to go?”

#

Wooden chairs line the walls of the basement. The middle of the room sits empty with a pair of dim lights hanging overhead. It’s all about the mood, Fukashi had explained when Cel had asked him why they didn’t just replace the cheap lights.

The chairs are full when Cel follows walks down the last step of the stairway and into that open space. When the eyes of the brigs and burners alight on her, tension coils up her spine. They assess her coldly, their eyes scraping over her from head to toe. They are obvious in their focus: her hair and eyes. Daddy may be General Blackfire, but Cel has the coloring of a natural-born firecore, and they have likely never seen one who truly looks the part. Not to mention, in the dim lighting, the crimson glow of her eyes must be obvious. She bears their scrutiny proudly, her chin lifted.

Daddy, having followed her down the stairs, slips a hand onto her shoulder. “Good evening, my burners. At long last, I get to introduce you to my heir. This is Celosia. You may call her Cel. If something happens to me, all that I have is hers.”

Silence.

Cel curls her hands into fists.

The air seems to thin. She doesn’t wonder what the burners are thinking as they stare at her. She can guess.

Small. Young. Easy prey. Weak.

They have no idea what she’s capable of, and she doesn’t yet know how to show them. The urge to prove herself bubbles up into her throat, but none of the words she can think of to say are good enough.

“Go sit by Nora,” Daddy tells her, so she goes. Her joints feel stiff and her stride is awkward as she moves across the room and settles herself in the empty chair at Nora’s side. Nora looks even more bored than she often does in school lectures, which is saying something.

“Welcome to the party,” Nora says grimly. “Unfortunately, we don’t get snacks until afterwards.”

Cel rolls her eyes.

Daddy then begins to speak, and he is magnetic. He prowls slowly around the room, speaking of people, money, territories, and properties that Cel knows nothing about. He does so with such confidence and grace that it’s hard to look away from him. Meanwhile his shadow bends oddly at his feet; ShiShi is in his element. The odd shadow sends eyes flickering nervously to the floor.

When Daddy comes near Cel, he makes a point to meet her gaze and smile. At the same time, his shadow brushes against hers almost playfully.

As Cel pushes Daddy’s words to the back of her head, listening but absorbing them less intently now that she’s relaxed a little, she takes stock of the burners. What she gathers from them is a sense of reluctant tolerance backed by fear. Everything about Daddy terrifies them. Fingers clench and jaws tense when they catch his gaze. Some people even openly lean away when he comes in close range.

This realization sends satisfaction curling through Cel’s gut, tined by a trace of concern. Fear may be useful, but it makes their loyalty conditional. Daddy will need at least a few loyal followers to uphold his reign.

She identifies several well-known faces in Malais among the group. Leopold stands out the most, of course, with his children sitting to either side of him. Lache sits as primly as she does in class, but Atro slouches. When he catches Cel eyeing him, he sits up a little straighter and waves.

She reluctantly waves back. She rarely sees him, but on those rare occasions when their paths cross, he always greets her politely, unlike his older sister. Still, something about his eager smile, no matter how friendly it seems, sets her teeth on edge.

When Daddy opens up the floor for discussion, Cel can barely follow what's being said. There are too many events she hasn’t been privy to before this. For now, she pays attention and files away questions to pester Daddy with later.

Three meetings, she promises herself. Three meetings and I will know burner business better than half the people in this room.

It ends up being a grueling couple of hours, and her excitement is quickly overcome by boredom. By the time the meeting is over, she’s mentally drained and not ready for Atro to approach her. He smiles sweetly, meandering toward her as the others in the room mingle.

Already, Atro is a little bit taller than Cel is.

“Hi,” he says shyly, rubbing a hand through his short, white hair. It’s the fashion in Malais to grow one’s hair out, but he never seems to let it get very long.

Cel searches the room for Nora with her gaze. When she doesn’t spot her anywhere, Cel assumes her supposed bodyguard has already fled upstairs for food. The traitor.

Though annoyed at being abandoned, she tries not to sound aggrieved. “Hi, Atro. How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Glad to see you. Your hair looks cool.” His smile widens as he bounces in place in his excitement, and Cel is quickly reminded that he’s not only a year her junior, but normal. She’s often put off by the immaturity of most children near her age.

“Thanks.” Her smile strains across her lips. Daddy agreed that Atro could start attending meetings recently, despite that he’s a whole year younger than Cel had to be to get here. It peeves her, but Leopold is a fierce negotiator, and Daddy had wanted a favor from the man that was apparently more important than your pride, Cel.

She loves Daddy, but she hates when he puts business above family.

“I don’t know what they were talking about. Luckily Lache can break it all down for me later,” Atro says with a laugh, but this just annoys Cel more. She wants to understand what’s happening at the meetings. She’s trying to understand, and he’s just brushing off these matters like they’re unimportant? Not to mention leaning on the person Cel hates most of all to make any sense of them.

This is my legacy! How dare you treat it so lightly! She restrains herself from saying the words aloud. School has taught her something critical about socializing: her harsh thoughts rarely make good conversation.

The reminder of her poor social skills pinches at her stomach.

It’s been a year of schooling, and her only friend is Nora, who’d rather spend time with her new girlfriend Sylvie than Cel.

In fact, the only person who ever seems to want to spend time with her nowadays, is the boy facing her now. It’d be silly not to take a chance.

“Do you....like to read?” Cel asks hesitantly.

His grin is far too wide. “Yes! I have my own collection.”

“Me too,” Cel admits. “Want to see?”

“Sure!”

Together, they head up stairs, but Cel is only marginally relieved. There are some gaps in a girl’s life that a silly boy simply cannot fill.