Author's note: Overflowing gratitude to a-bit-of-madness for her beta efforts-her sharp eyes and kind ways.


"Lexa…" A voice beckoned her out of sleep, but there was no waking, only darkness. "Lexa, I'm here."

It was familiar but thick, as if moving through water.

"Don't open your eyes, little natblida. Rest." A man's voice, gentle and light, drew closer. The darkness grew warmer, comforting. "Stay here while you can. The world will have changed when you open your eyes."

Where are you? she asked him, though she didn't speak.

"I'm here, with you," the voice replied. "I always will be. We all will."

Who? she asked.

The darkness began to lift like fog, and a room slowly filled the space, settling around her like a dream. She kneeled before a short table, where burning candles and smoking sage were situated around small sketches of children, some her age, but several who were older, teenagers. Some smiling, some serious. She saw a hand that wasn't hers reach down, pick up each picture, and hold it to her chest. "Ai koma yu op." She heard the voice whisper.

Mazo! She felt a smile, but she couldn't tell if it was hers, or her Commander's.

"I always knew it would be you," he said.

You chose me… she said. The hands cradled the sketch of a young girl, her wild hair poofing joyfully everywhere.

"I suppose I did, in a way," Mazo replied. "It wasn't the way I thought it would be."

The darkness returned, and a sudden sadness washed over her. They're all gone, Mazo, my sisters and brothers. I'm alone.

There was silence, but she could feel him there.

"It was always going to be this way, Lexa," he finally said. "It was like this for all of us. We honor those who fall by the sword, but follow the One who wields it best."

She had heard the phrase over and over. The novitiates said it to one another before they sparred. The wichen recited it when they tended to their wounds after. And the fleimkepa used it to remind them to work hard every day. Lexa did not want to hear it now. What did her sword matter now? They were gone, many of them because of that sword.

"We didn't choose you for your sword, Lexa," Mazo said, then he laughed almost sheepishly. "Well, not just for your sword. Though I've never seen anyone fight like you, not at your age."

In life, Mazo had always tried to make heavy things lighter, but Lexa had always been a serious girl. I'm alone, she said again, now feeling more empty than sad.

"I promise you will never be alone," Mazo's voice was soft. "Where you were once surrounded by novitiates you will now be surrounded by commanders. All of us. This is going to be hard, Lexa. But you don't have to do it on your own."

Lexa suddenly felt a low burning on her back, felt the sensation tugging her away from the Commander. and the room began to dissolve into darkness again.

Mazo? Something inside her reached for him frantically.

"I'm here, Lexa, I promise." His voice calmed her.

She tried to take in a deep breath but realized that she didn't know where her breath was. She tried to lift her hands to her face, but there was nothing-no muscles moving bones, moving fingertips to cheeks-just darkness. But then the burning on her back came again-no, more like a bee sting, many bee stings, all along her spine. She couldn't find her hands, but the pain, like a small candle, brought light and life to just that part of her. The light spread, pulling at her.

"Lexa, not yet!" Mazo's voice was distant. "I need you to remember something. I need you to remember these words: Mens mea fiat mens tua. Can you say them back to me?"

She didn't recognize the language. Mens… The strange words were slippery in her mind. I can't…

"Mens mea fiat mens tua," Mazo prompted her again, repeating the words slowly.

Mens mea fiat mens tua, she repeated. The burning stings returned, stronger now, and the pain ebbed up and down her spine.

"Again," Mazo ordered, his voice drifting further and further away.

Mens mea fiat mens tua.

"Wich fleim in, Lexa," his voice had almost disappeared into the darkness. "We're here."

He was gone.

The darkness lifted from black to gray. She rubbed her fingers together, felt the soft skin of her fingertips press against each other. The pain now pulsed in her back, one sting coming steadily after another.

"No, seven circles," she heard Titus say.

She took a breath as she returned to her body. Stomach against stone. Face against something soft. Arms resting at her side. She moved her legs, felt the silky cloth of the black dress spill around them. She tried to lift her head, and pain shot through her neck. She gasped.

"Don't move, little natblida." Titus' voice was soft but urgent. "You're receiving the marks of the Commander."

"My neck," she said, her voice sandy and weak.

"It's the Flame, Lexa. The incision will take some time to heal."

She blinked her eyes, found them heavy with sleep and pain. She placed her hands flat against the stone and pushed herself up.

"Stop," Titus said, not to her.

She sat up slowly and felt the front of her dress hanging loosely over her chest, while the back fell open, exposing her spine. Titus rushed over and covered her with a cloak.. She looked over and saw one of the wichen with a long bone needle in one hand and a bloody rag in the other. Her spine burned with slow, steady pain. The back of her neck throbbed. She reached back and brushed her hand over the incision, now held together with knots of stitches.

Titus kneeled down in front of her and put his hands on her upper arms, as if to hold her up. "It's part of the ritual, Lexa. The wichen is painting your back to honor this important day." He looked towards the doors of the chamber. "But I'm glad you slept. There is still much to do this night. The chiefs wait for you to ascend."

"May I continue, Heda?" the wichen asked.

Lexa took a deep breath. Her stomach turned. She looked at Titus. "May I have some food?" She hadn't eaten since before the conclave and wasn't sure how much longer she could go without.

Titus shook his head and looked down. "I'm sorry, Lexa. Not until after the Tagspiden. Then you will be able to have whatever you want. Heda." He tacked on the last word as if to remind her.

Lexa sighed and closed her eyes.

"Heda?" the wichen asked.

Lexa nodded. "You may continue," she said as she lied back down on the stone table. The burning stings returned, one quickly after another. She closed her eyes but could not find sleep again.


The sun had gone down hours ago. When the wichen finished the markings, Lexa didn't know if it was closer to sundown or sunrise. She knew she was tired, though. She knew that her back and neck ached from the new marks she bore, along with the soreness and fatigue of yesterday's combat. Was that only yesterday? It had all happened so quickly. Mazo, the conclave, the Flame.

She had been taught the ritual of the Flame. She knew about the marks of the Commander. She had fought in battles and known the weariness of war. But this was a different exhaustion, one that left her numb, empty. It turned the people around her into ghosts, her world into shadow. Or maybe that was just the torch lights flickering on the walls.

Lexa sat quietly, her legs hanging over the edge of the stone table, as the wichen rubbed a sticky balm over the new markings on her skin and covered it with a bandage. When the wichen left, Lexa closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, hoping to fill the emptiness with some sort of life. Just two long breaths in, two more wichen, both women, came in, their arms full.

"Heda, we are to prepare you for the Tagspiden," one of them said.

She looked down. When will this be over? Her stomach lurched. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Since she could remember, she had always been able to keep her feelings away from others, but this exhaustion had worn her thin. The mature veneer was wearing off, and the tired twelve year-old threatened to erupt. She took a long breath in.

One is for the deimeika, that gives us light.

The tears retreated. She felt the drum of her heart slow down.

Two is for these ears that can hear the morning birds.

She closed her eyes and reached up to touch her ears. She drew in another slow breath.

Three is for...

She bit her lips and opened her eyes. The wichen stood there waiting, respectfully diverting their eyes. She looked each of them in the eyes.

"Let's get on with it then," she said.


"Hail, warriors of the twelve clans!" Titus greeted the chiefs as the doors to the chamber opened for the second time that night. Lexa stood behind him, hidden in the darkness.

"Hail, Fleimkepa," the chiefs answered. They sounded tired.

Titus turned towards Lexa and nodded. As she stepped into the chamber, she felt the air change around her. The chiefs quickly sat up and stared as she made her way across the room. The wichen had switched out the rich, lush dress for rough black and metal. A black overcoat went down to her knees and was locked around her body with a metal corset. It was lined with fur and latched in the front with thick leather straps. Strong black boots reached up to her knees, and metal-studded fingerless gloves glistened in the torch light. Her long brown hair hung in a maze of small braids behind her, pulled back to reveal her face painted in a black streak over her eyes, dripping like blood down her cheeks. The battle paint Anya had given her.

Lexa looked around at the chiefs, her green eyes shining even brighter through the black mask. The chiefs had arrived for the conclave only a few days ago, some from far away. Many brought with them hopes that the natblida from their clan would emerge victorious. The Flame was the only thing that could gather these men and women, some who had hated each other for generations, into the same place. Outside of this tower, this moment, some of them were at war, their armies paused in a mandatory ceasefire in distant forests and fields. The Flame was the only thing that kept some of these chiefs from killing each other, the only thing they all held sacred.

Lexa continued her walk across the chamber. The stone table had been moved and Mazo's chair-the commander's chair-sat empty on its raised platform. Lexa let a breath out as she felt her chest relax. She knew this room, had been in it a hundred times before. The only difference was that a small stool had been placed just to the left of the tall chair. As she walked up the few stairs, a picture flashed across her mind. Mazo-younger than she had ever known him, a large man with a boy's face-sat on the stool, his back erect but his eyes tired. She thought she saw him smile at her, but the picture dissolved too quickly to really know.

She sat on the stool. The metal corset forced her to sit upright. Her back felt wet and itchy, but she blinked off the discomfort.

"Warriors," Titus said. "It has been a long day and a long night." Titus shook his head, an unspoken thought flashing across his eyes. "Lexa kom Trikru has taken The Flame. She must now pass the final test."

As Titus spoke, Lexa felt a wave of steely anger flow towards her. When she looked up to find its source, she saw the lips of Nia kom Azgeda drawn into a thin smirk- a dare. When Lexa won the conclave, the Ice Queen had stormed out and almost refused to take part in the rituals. But to refuse meant that the other clans would never again acknowledge a natblida from Azgeda. The Flame would never pass to her people. Nia returned, but she hadn't spoken a word since.

"Many of you have been part of the Tagspiden," Titus said to the chiefs. "You know that there are no instructions, just this book." Titus held up a ragged brown book with a figure eight carved into its cover. "Lexa will speak, and I will verify." He walked to where the chiefs sat and took a chair among them. "Noli kom Podakru-" he bowed his head towards the man to his left, "-and Nia kom Azgeda-" another bow towards the Ice Queen "-will oversee." Titus opened the book to a page marked by a leather strap and set it on his lap. Then he looked at Lexa with serious eyes. "Wich fleim in, Lexa."

She felt her face squint in sudden confusion. Is that all? What was she supposed to do? What was in the book? She looked down at her fierce clothes and felt smaller than she ever had. Her fingernails dug into her hands as she fought the desire to tear off the long coat with its tight metal cage and throw it on the floor, to run out of the chamber doors and down all 50 flights of stairs until she was free. She closed her eyes. From nowhere, an image of her nomi rose in her mind, her long black hair in braids just like hers, a small, silent smile creeping across her face. Lexa shivered. She hadn't thought about her mother in a long time, not since her first battle. She opened her eyes to see Miah, the chief from Louwoda Kliron Kru, looking intently at her. She had soft eyes, warm and encouraging.

Lexa took a deep breath down her spine. When she let it out, her shoulders relaxed. It's not a trick, she told herself. You know what to do. She tapped her foot on the tiled floor.

The chiefs stared. Nia waited. Lexa felt her jaw clench.

Wich fleim in, Lexa.

She looked up at the tall chair next to her and suddenly felt dumb. You know what to do.

She closed her eyes, reached back and rubbed the stitches on her neck, and said quietly, "Mens mea fiat mens tua." There was a flash behind her eyes, and a woman's distant scream. "Mens mea fiat mens tua," Lexa said again, louder. A picture appeared in the darkness. A woman. Brown eyes. Shrieking wildly, desperately. Lexa felt a burning at her feet. Sharp pain. Flames licked at the woman's feet. Lexa jerked, trying to get away, but she couldn't move. She looked in the woman's eyes, and the woman became quiet, looking intently back.

Lexa opened her eyes. "Becca Pramheda," she said, though she didn't know where the words came from. "They burned her alive."

Noli and Nia looked down at the book, but Titus kept his eyes steadily on her, determined. He nodded very slightly. Keep going.

Lexa closed her eyes again. The image came more quickly this time. Blood-spattered snow and the clangs and cries of war. A woman, short with powerful blue eyes and clothes that Lexa didn't recognize, fought three others dressed similarly but in different colors. The woman moved fast, beautifully, almost dancing with her sword. She spun, cutting a huge man across the face then crouched and plunged her sword into the belly of another man. Out of nowhere, an arrow hit her just below her collar bone. Lexa gasped as the pain struck. The woman, quickly pulling the sword out of the man, then spun again, cutting the throat of her third enemy. Another arrow plunged into her chest, just below her heart. Lexa jerked and tasted blood. The woman fell to her knees and looked up at Lexa with a battle-crazed smile.

Lexa looked up at the chiefs. "Elora. Of the north," she said, looking at Nia. "Two arrows. There was a battle."

Nia's eyes were shining.

"She was beautiful." Lexa felt her face burning. Why did I say that? Nia smiled at her grimly.

She met every commander, looked each in the eye and watched them die. Assassinated. Overthrown. Defeated in battle. Betrayed. And-just once-overcome by illness. She spoke aloud each of their names and their deaths. Finally, she saw Mazo again. As his life left him, his eyes smiled at her. She smiled as she spoke his name. I miss you.

"It is done," she heard Titus speak. As Lexa opened her eyes, she saw dull, gray light reflecting off the chamber walls. The sun was rising through a wall of clouds. Her back ached and itched. Her hands shook. She looked around. The chiefs squirmed, stiff, with shadows under their eyes.

"Stand up, Lexa kom Trikru." Titus walked to her with the book in hand. A wichen who had been standing in the shadows took the book and handed the fleimkepa a long, red sash. The wichen bowed and disappeared with the book. Lexa stood up slowly, not sure if her feet would hold her. Her heavy black clothes pulled at her, but she managed to stand.

The sash was anchored to an enormous shoulder piece. Titus set it on her left shoulder. It sat massive on her small body and she stepped back with the weight of it. Titus gently buckled the piece in place so that the sash flowed down her back, spilling onto the floor behind her. She closed her eyes. I am the Commander.

Titus looked around the room and said in a loud, strong voice, "Rise for your commander!"

The chiefs stood and Lexa looked around. Miah smiled softly. Nia's face was stone. Noli could barely keep his eyes open. Lexa nodded her head as she had seen Mazo do a hundred times before. All of the chiefs, even Nia, dropped to a knee and bowed their heads, saying, "Heda."

Suddenly a great noise filled the chamber from outside. Without thinking, Lexa rushed out to the balcony to look down. The army of Polis was in formation below. They had stood there all night waiting for the new Commander to ascend. And now they cheered. There would be much drinking and many fights that day.

Titus appeared at her side. "The fire has been lit," he said, his eyes moving towards the top of the tower. Then he got down on one knee and bowed his head. "The Commander has ascended."

The sky grew brighter. Cheers of "Heda! Heda! Heda!" rose up from the warriors below.

Lexa looked down at Titus bowed before her and ran her hand over the tattoos that crowned his head. He looked up at her.

"I'd like to go to sleep now," Lexa said, looking out at the sky.

A warm smile broke out over Titus' face, and he laughed.


I won't lie. I love reviews (who doesn't?). I love constructive criticism (no, really) and I love hearing what you loved. If you have thoughts, please let me know. Thanks for reading!