“Fira.” Warm fingers tipped her head up before she could resist. She realized belatedly she had zoned out on him. One of his hands dropped to cover hers, smothering the tiny flame that was steadily eating it’s way through the tunic as she fidgeted. His mouth tightened a little. “Do you want him dead?” There was a clear offer in his words.

She flinched, hard enough that he let go of her. “I killed him. I-I didn’t mean to,” she added, panic leaking into her tone. “He was… he was so much angrier than usual. I didn’t think he was going to stop.” Her hands started to shake. She clenched them to try and be still, but her whole frame started shaking instead. “My magic, my fire, reacted before I could take it back. I couldn’t save him. I tried. I-I tried so hard. I got the healer, but she couldn’t… and then the village…”

His hands reached for her face again, but this time they hovered on either side of her head, inches from her. There was a question in his eyes. She didn’t flinch back, so he cupped her between his hands. His skin was scorching, but it didn’t burn her. Never her. “He deserved to die.” A sob caught in her throat, and she shook her head. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I do not judge you for protecting yourself. There is nothing wrong with your magic.” When she started to shake her head, he shook her between his hands gently. “Does the magic feel wrong? Does it?”

“No,” she gasped out.

“Would you want it gone?”

“No.”

“Then why would you destroy yourself over it?” His gaze was intense, searching hers with a rabid ferocity.

“It isn’t the magic I hate. It’s myself. I cannot stand the idea of taking another life over mine. Why do I deserve life over him?” She was crying in earnest now. “I had no right-”

“No more right than he did to strike you for being born.”