Hello again, everyone!

Here's the rewritten first chapter of Into the Fire. Readers from my tumblr got a sneak preview :). Thank you so so so much to everyone who left me kind reviews/favourites/follows. They mean the world! Now let's get on with this chapter.

Chapter 1 - Rossy

A column of flame erupts from my hands, billowing down the battlefield and scorching all in its path. Horses and their riders scream, trying to escape me, and I howl my battle cry, kicking my own steed into a gallop as I unsheathe my gleaming blade and—

"Rossy!"

My sister's voice snaps me out of my daydream. I jerk upright, then scramble off the windowsill. It's dawn, or at least some time close to it; the windowpane to my left is so cloudy and dirty that it's hard to tell much of anything, but the streaks of grease and dirt are lit by a pinker light than they were when I first climbed up into my favourite place to daydream.

"The bell started ringing five minutes ago! You're still in your sleep-clothes!" Princesca's voice climbs higher as she takes in my unprepared appearance. Her hands-on-her-hips stance changes to a frantic fidget, like half of her wants to run off to perform without me and the other half wants to hang around to lecture me. "Gods, go get dressed right now, or we'll be tumbling in front of the croissant platter!"

I'm still a little disoriented and hardly have time to apologize before she's whirling around in a tizzy of blue and purple gauze and dashing down the hall. Her panic's not totally irrational, though, I realize as I squint at the window again. If she's not exaggerating, then our divine masters, the gods, will be expecting us in full motley in a minute. For the thousandth time, I wonder why they want to watch acrobats before breakfast. Do they have guests again?

Prin would probably smack me if I said it out loud, but I think that the gods need some better hobbies. All they seem to do is eat and party.

Casting one last mournful look at my hiding spot, I take off down the hallway, back toward the common room. I speed past Malcolm, the steward, and cringe as he shouts after me. I know I'm late!

I skid to a stop in front of the doorway to the entertainers' common room and squeeze between Ned and Bea as they practice partner juggling, and then dart into our sleep-chambers. Some of the more fortunate employees are still dozing and I try not to step on too many of them as I wind my way past the cots over to mine. If I wasn't so late, I might have ducked behind one of the partitions on the other side of the room, but I traded modesty for daydreaming, so instead I yank off my loose white sleep-shirt and replace it with the tighter, patched acrobat uniform. My pants follow, and finally, I set the jester's hat on my head. My scalp tingles as the holding enchantment takes, and then I race back out of the sleeping room.

By the smells that waft invitingly down the hall, breakfast is almost ready. Normally, I'd have already eaten with Prin and everyone else in the servants' hall and maybe stolen a pastry, but I also traded a real breakfast for daydreaming. No regrets, I decide, even as my belly grumbles. I run down the hall toward the entrance that will bring me to the manor-proper and can't help dwelling on that daydream.

Prin's the one obsessed with all those silly books about dragons and maidens and all that, but the heroism angle is appealing to me. And also… I shove open the doors and dart down the next hallway, taking the same route that I do every morning. I guess we get it from Mom. I only have a faint memory of her, and even less of Dad; we were sent off six years ago to learn from the ex-acrobats in this manor so we can replace them. Now, at twelve, I'm supposed to take over and pretend like I don't remember my mom's face. I remember her and Dad's names. I remember that she loved the same fantasy books as Prin. Enough to practically name her daughter 'Princess' anyway. She used to read to us...

That's the kind of stuff I'm supposed to remember while lying in my cot and staring at the ceiling, I decide, fighting off the memories. Just do your job, Rossy.

Too bad my job's not galloping around on a horse and doing glorious battle with a bunch of knights in shining armour.

Prin's waiting for me outside the slight-ajar, massive doors that'll bring us to the gods' banquet hall. She gives me a scathing look, but I'm not late and I am dressed, so there's not much she can complain about.

"Are you fire-eating today?" she whispers, keeping an eye on the crack in the door for the sign that the entertainers that go before us are done.

"Yeah." I set up the stuff by their fireplace last night. Why would you put a fireplace in the same room that you eat dinner? I don't tell Prin that I'm not planning on doing the normal trick of extinguishing the fire a couple of seconds after it's even alight. She'd set me on fire herself if she knew I was going to try something so risky, but if I'm right, even that wouldn't have much of an effect. I think back to yesterday, sticking my hand into the blazing ovens when the head cook wasn't looking, and staring at my own hand as it was licked by flames that felt as tickly and harmless as feathers.

That was my first clue that fire doesn't behave properly around me.

My second clue comes after we cartwheel into the hall together. Prin turns a somersault, then twists her way over to the silks that dangle off the roof. It's pretty cool to watch her, but I've seen it enough times that I'm not distracted when she launches herself up, arm-over-arm with the sheer strength of her upper-body.

Instead, I do another cartwheel. As stupid as the hat-charm is, I guess it's good for one thing. The bells jingle as I spin over my hands, but the hat they're attached to doesn't immediately plop onto the floor and leave my red hair flopping around.

The gods are creepily silent as always, just watching us with impossibly perfect faces from their place at the long table in front of us.

I toss in a back handspring for fun, then scurry over to the massive fireplace. I hear a swoosh as Prin pulls off some kind of tricky maneuver, and I grab the baton with the oiled cloth. Even if it is stupid that they have a fireplace here, it's a lot easier than trying to keep a tinderbox in my sleeve while doing backflips.

I drag the baton through the flames, resisting the temptation to shove my whole arm in to see if I really am immune to it. That might give Prin a heart attack though. When I remove it again, the rag is engulfed. Here goes nothing. I tilt my head back as usual, drawing in a huge breath, then bring the flame to my lips. Adrenaline pulses through my fist closed around the baton and I keep my hand as steady as I can. I stare into the fire, feeling the warmth on my face. It's close enough to burn if I'm not careful, but I don't care. It's beautiful, flickering orange and yellow and never staying in one spot long enough to form a shape.

Then it explodes.

Well, 'explodes' isn't the right word; it doesn't blow me backward, but I do stagger a couple steps back as I see the flame swell. It goes from a small torch to—The daydream!—a column of flame that shoots up, brushing the rafters and coming dangerously close to Prin, still wrapped in the silks. She screams, and I yank the baton back, close to my chest.

Like it's being sucked into my chest, the fire retracts, leaving Prin unscathed, and becomes the same little torch that it was a second ago. I stare at it, breathless. What in the name of the gods…

Just when I was getting used to the idea that fire couldn't burn me, this little torch had to go and do that. Great. The gods look faintly impressed, so I take another breath, bring the fire to my face again, a little warily, and do the trick. Something's buzzing in my chest. When I clamp my mouth around the flame, it extinguishes immediately. Finally. I pull the stick out and frown at the gleaming cloth. It looks perfectly normal; no hidden can of oil or anything that might have made it jump up like that. I should be doing more tricks, I know, but I can't help staring at it for a second longer. Did it do that? Or was it me…?

I toss it aside, resolving to inspect it more later, and do some more flips. My mind's elsewhere, though, and I land a bit funny on one ankle. I limp through the rest of the mercifully short routine, and then snag the baton on my way out, tucking it into my sleeve. Prin is wide-eyed and breathing hard as she follows me into the hallway, and I don't think it's just because of our routine. We leave the hall as it's flooded with other servants, laden with food and jugs, and I can't help tugging at the strands of red hair that escape my charmed hat. My scalp always feels itchy when it's on; I don't know if it's because of the enchantment or not, but it's annoying.

"Alright, what in the gods' name was that?!" Prin demands, whirling on me the second we're back in the servants' halls.

I shrug, feeling the weight of the baton against my forearm. "I don't know. I was as surprised as you were."

She gapes, though her silence doesn't last. I can feel a lecture coming. "I thought I was about to die, Rossy! What happened?"

"I don't know," I repeat. "It just… exploded for no reason."

Prin shakes her head, still shaken. "Well, stick to tumbling until you figure it out. I almost lost my grip on the silks."
"I will," I promise. If I'm not just immune to fire, if it also does that around me, then maybe I shouldn't be practicing near other people.

Prin gives me another concerned look, then says, "Have you eaten yet? I saved you some oatmeal but I'm sure it's cold by now."

As appealing as cold gruel sounds, I shake my head. "I'm gonna go outside, actually."

"What? Into the garden?"

"Yes, into the garden," I snap back, then sigh. "Sorry, I… I'm just a little freaked out, okay? I'll be back in time for lunch. No one'll even know I was gone."

Prin's jaw tightens, but she just says, "Okay. Be careful."

That's why I'm going outside, I think. I don't even dare stay in the garden; if someone was around and they saw me, or if I hurt them… I shudder. Malcolm would have a heart attack. I wave at Prin and take off down the hall toward the outer room. The smell of peaches makes my stomach grumble again, but I ignore the stacked crates of them and disappear out into the dawn air.

The laundry lines are empty for now, which gives me a clear view toward the towering wall that separates me from the untamed forests beyond. It's usually the stage that my daydreams take place on. Sometimes, when the sky is clear and I'm sitting on the wall, I feel like I can just make out the spires of an imaginary castle, far above the trees.

"Rossy!"

It's Hugh. I make sure the baton is still tucked tightly up my sleeve and wave to the other boy. He's wandering around with his trumpet in one hand, probably looking for a place to practice. So was I, but I can't do it in front of him.

"Hey, Hugh, what's new?"

He imitates the rhythm of my accidental rhyme with a few brassy notes, then grins. "Not much! Trying to stay in top form; the gods are having company tonight."

When are they not? "Cool. I was just going to…" My eyes slide toward the wall. One place that would be really away from everybody…

"Going to what?" Hugh follows my gaze, then gives me a scolding look. "Rossy…"

I already know what he's gonna say. "I'm not going to! I was just…" I trail off, trying to look away from the looming forest. Wouldn't that be perfect, though? Unless you listen to Zem's drunken ramblings, they're uninhabited anyway. Who cares if a chipmunk sees me messing with fire?

"Don't," Hugh warns.

"Just a little look," I say, making up my mind, and start off toward the wall.

"It's too dangerous!"

"It's a forest, Hugh." I roll my eyes at him over my shoulder, then eye the wall. If I take a running start…

"But Zem says—" he begins.

"Zem's got whiskey instead of brain-juice," I interrupt. "Next thing I know, you'll be joining his rebel cult or whatever it is."

"It's not a rebel cult!" Hugh says, but I ignore him and back up, then run at the wall and brace my foot against it, launching myself up high enough that I can throw my hand over the top. "Rossy—"

"I'll be back in an hour!" I call back, and drop myself over the other side.

The earth is different here… softer. A little springy. The grass grows patchy, blending with clover and moss. The forest stretches in front of me, disappearing up a hill a little ways in front of me, ridiculously innocuous when I think about how Hugh reacted to the mere idea of going into it. It's a forest. What did I expect?

I take a step forward, feeling less nervous. It's inviting, actually; the sunlight moves through the trees in a really pretty way. Dust motes dance in the shafts of light, and I can hear birdsong. It's a nice change of pace from the eerie silence of the manor.

Okay. Time to try this out.

I take a deep breath and hold the baton aloft, then focus on the oiled rag that's still tightly wound around the tip. Nothing happens. I frown and focus harder, squinting and holding it so tightly that my arm shakes a bit. I point at it with my other hand. Nothing.

"Fire!" I say, very commandingly.

Nope.

What happened when it exploded this morning? I was getting nervous about doing the trick. Maybe it only happens when I'm freaking out. I try to put myself back in the moment. My heart started beating really fast… I close my eyes and remember the way the fire erupted from the torch.

When I open my eyes, the rag has started to smoke.

"Yes!" I exclaim, nearly dropping it. It responds to my jubilation, and almost tentatively, a tongue of flame darts up from the end of it. My concentration suddenly breaks when I hear something.

I'm immediately on high alert again, my head jerking up. What was that? It kind of sounded like a laugh. Maybe a weird bird…? My heart is beating faster again, which is making the torch flame, but I ignore it.

There it is again! It definitely sounds like a laugh; high and tinkly like a bell. I step toward the sound, a little deeper into the forest, and as the trees shift, I see it.

A tall man, much taller than even Malcolm, though not as tall as a god is standing, turned away from me, looking out into the forest. He has more hair than anyone I've ever seen, bound in a long, thick red braid brushing his waist. Definitely redder than my own 'red' hair, which doesn't come close to that shade of russet, even in the winter when it darkens.

He laughs again. I falter. Wait, is he human? It doesn't sound like anyone I've ever heard. Then he's in movement, and all my doubts vanish. He practically glides across the earth, smooth as a cat hunting, and in his wake, autumn leaves flutter gold and red. What… the…

I backpedal, suddenly sensing I might be in danger. Was Hugh not being crazy? Impossible. I freeze, watching the weird not-man disappear into the trees. Should I follow him? No! Don't follow him, that's a stupid idea.

Shush-shush.

I hear something in the trees.

Is he coming back?

I'm frozen, waiting. I can feel my heart in my throat and my cheeks, and I don't even chance a look at my torch. I already know it's going to be flaming brighter.

Then something knocks me over from behind. I shout as I go down, belly-flopping onto the leaves, and my unseen attacker lands on my back.

"Agh! Stop!" I shout, raking my fingers through the earth and trying to drag myself out from underneath the weight pinning me. "Please don't hurt me!"

Hugh was right! I'm going to die! The leaves under my hands begin to smolder.

"What are you doing here?" It's a boy's voice, and I relax a little. Another kid isn't going to kill me, right?

"I just—just wanted to check out the forest!" I answer, still trying to pull myself out from under him. His weight eases suddenly, and I roll over. He's framed in sunlight, staring down at me, and the most I can tell about him is his clothes are green.

"Well, you had better—" is all he gets out before I tackle him. "Hey!"

This time he's the one flat on his back as I straddle him. I grab his wrists and roll like I'm doing a side-somersault. He shouts again as we tumble and just like I hoped, starts writhing, completely disoriented.

When we stop, I've maneuvered him onto his front, pinning him with a knee on his back.

"Ha!" I say. "What are you doing here?"

He groans. I didn't break his wrist or something, did I? I'm warmed up and limber from this morning, but he's obviously not if a little scrap in the leaves his making him whine like that.

"I live here," he snaps, his voice a little muffled because he's basically speaking into the ground.

"In the forest?" I ask incredulously.

"Who are you?" he demands.

"I'm asking the questions," I say, taking in what little I can see of him. He's a bit shorter than me, definitely heavier, and wearing a bright green shirt over a white long-sleeved shirt. His hair is also gray, ash-gray, which is really weird. Is it dyed? I squint at him. "Why is your hair gray?"

"Why is your hair gray?" he imitates. "Why isn't yours?"

I roll my eyes. Okay. "If I let you get up, are you going to jump at me again?"

He makes a show of sighing loudly, rustling the leaf-litter in front of his face. "No."

I'm not sure I trust him, but I'm pretty sure I can fend him off even if he does try to wrestle me again. I shift myself off his back and jump to my feet quickly. He turns over and starts dusting himself off, though he doesn't seem to notice the big smear of dust on his left cheek. He's got a round baby face, and looks even less dangerous up close. His eyes are almost as weird as his hair; the lightest brown I've ever seen, almost yellow. Eventually he does stand, and just like I thought, he's pretty short.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" He runs an accusatory stare over me.

I cross my arms and glance over at where the baton got tossed to the ground in our scuffle. "I… I didn't."

He stares, then finally seems to notice the hat, the outfit… and erupts into laughter. "Blessed Starlaxi… I just got beat up by a god-toy, didn't I?"

Thank you so much for reading chapter 1! I hope returning readers think it's an improvement, haha, and everyone else, I hope you're interested in continuing! Leave me a review; they're the best motivation for continuing to write!

~Akila